I have never in my nineteen years of existence

felt as pathetic as I do now.

Pride isn't an easy thing to swallow,

and I'm a proud person to begin with.

I can barely manage to mutter the words,

"Please… Spare my life."

It's a bizarre thing,
feeling so terrified of death.
After all, prior to coming to this place,
death was something I had never feared.
I never believed in an afterlife,
so what was there to fear, really?
But now that I am standing in front of this child
(or is it even appropriate to call him a child,
referring to him as if he is human?)
I am faced with the reality that
what happens after one dies isn't what I had initially thought.
He doesn't look me in the eye when he speaks.
"It's almost laughable.
Out of all the people I have killed,
none of them have stayed behind with me.
I am so alone."

I know better than to antagonize this boy.

The scars on my arms are the reminders of

what happens when I don't keep my mouth shut.

But I am apparently not one to learn lessons easily,

because I cannot stop myself from saying,

"Yeah,

because people like you deserve to be alone."

I instantly regret it.
I bite my lip and clamp my eyes shut,
fearfully awaiting his reaction.
He surprises me though, speaking calmly,
and there is a sad tone in his voice,
which is so terribly unlike him.
"I know.
But that's why you will stay with me, right?
Because you and I are the same."

I feel my heart drop.

I feel sick, so very sick.

We aren't the same, we aren't.

I refuse

to believe it.

And I don't want to stay with him.

I don't want to die here.

I try my best to reason with him.

"What good will killing me do?

There is no guarantee that I will stay behind

like you did."

And for a moment,
I can't help but wonder
what does make someone stay behind?
I had always heard people say
that people become ghosts when they have
unfinished business here on earth,
but that can't be right.
This boy left nothing unfinished,
I know for a fact.
His smile is back,
the malicious one he has always worn
since the day I met him.
He tells me,
"Heaven did not want a killer like me,
and the Hell that everyone envisions
does not exist;
this is Hell.
That is how I know
you will stay behind with me.
Heaven doesn't accept killers,
so it's only logical that you, too, will wind up here."

I'm panicking.

How can he possibly know about what I did?

But if there is a Heaven,

then it follows that there is a God,

and surely I can reason with Him.

I've always been told

that God is all-knowing,

so surely He will understand why I did what I did,

why I felt I had to kill her.

But,

as this boy puts his hands around my throat,

and I feel the air leaving my lungs,

I know in my heart

that any explanation I give to God

will be denied,

because they are nothing but excuses.

at the end of the hall

I'm probably the only person in the universe that procrastinates on NaNoWriMo by writing a different story LOL.
I'm sad because I think this story is a hell of a lot more fun to write than Crescendo :< But ah well, I don't think it would be long enough for NaNoWriMo anyway. I believe someone said they were curious about my writing style several entries ago? I'm reluctant to post my writing because I really don't know how to write, but I don't think I'm going to have time for a drawing today, soo... here's part of the non-nano story I'm playing around with instead of a drawing. (Just as a note, this isn't the beginning of the story. This is near the end of chapter 1.)

The room at the end of the hall is a room I have never entered before. A room I have never been allowed to enter, to be more specific. When I was a child, I was simply told that that room was off-limits; I was given no explanation for it. I didn't even particularly want an explanation. Nobody ever entered the room, so if they didn't want to go in there, then neither did I.
But now I am curious. And this is my house now, so I am allowed to enter whatever room I please, correct?
I slowly reach out to turn the doorknob, and…
Nothing. I can't get the knob to turn all the way. It is locked or stuck or something of the sort. Well, that's no fun. I'll have to have someone come fix that.
I turn to leave, but suddenly, I hear something come from the room. I freeze.
It's quiet, so faint that I can hardly hear it, but I can definitely hear the sound of someone playing violin on the other side of the door.
I know I must sound crazy, but I am telling you, I can hear it! In fact, I even recognize the song; it is Bach's Little Fugue in G Minor. I press my ear to the door, but the moment I do, the song stops. I am frozen like this, plastered to the door, too terrified to move. My heart is racing. I know I heard it, I know I did! But now there is nothing –
My heart skips a beat as I hear a giggle come from behind the door. It's the same laugh I heard on the stairs, the laugh of a child. A boy, I think. I'm so afraid that it's difficult to get myself to move, but I force myself to crouch down and peer into the room through the keyhole.
Much to my horror, a set of eyes stare back me. This is not just a normal person staring back at me, I should add. This person is transparent. I can see the whole room behind him, through him.
I am no longer frozen in front of the door; I am running, running, running. I think I might be screaming, too, but I'm too focused on getting the hell out of this hallway to know for sure. No, getting out of the hallway or even off of this floor doesn't feel like enough. I am running down both flights of stairs, through the main floor's hallway, and bolting straight out the front door.
I stand at the very edge of the front yard, staring back at the house as I try to catch my breath. My breath is visible out here in the cold, white puffs of smoke crawling out of my mouth every time I exhale. My heart pounds as I try to think of somewhere to go, because I certainly don't want to go back in there. I don't have any friends to call, I no longer have any parents to go to, no family that would welcome me –
At the thought of what my family would think of me standing outside, shivering in the cold because I am too terrified to enter my own house, I feel my notorious stubbornness creeping up. They would quite surely be laughing their asses off if they were to see me right now. The sheer thought of it has me angered.
I am walking firmly back into the house. For the trillionth time, this house is not haunted, because ghosts are not real, dammit! What I heard and what I saw were merely hallucinations because I am extremely fatigued. I have not slept well at all for the past week or so, because I have been busy packing, and because I have been busy studying for my upcoming exams.
I am storming up the stairs now, up one flight, and then the next. I am not afraid of the third floor, and I will prove that nothing was there. I ignore the fact that my heart is beating a billion beats per second. (And, by the way, my heart is only racing because I just took that sprint outside; I assure you, my heart is not racing because I am afraid of this house!)
I am walking down the third floor corridor, past the library full of books I have never read, past the bizarre mirrored room and past the art studio with the unfinished painting of a familiar looking blond boy (who is seeming familiar more now than ever, but I am unconcerned with this at the moment), and down to the very end of the hall where the once-forbidden room is.
The door is still locked. Of course. Why wouldn't it be?
I press my ear to the door, but I hear nothing. Through the keyhole, I see no eyes staring back at me. All I can see through this small hole is part of a grand piano, and on the wall across from me is a sliding glass door that leads to a balcony. Transparent curtains hang in front of the door, moving slightly as if there is a draft in the room.
I step back from the door. See? Nothing strange at all!

TOLD YOU I CAN'T WRITE.
The main character has no name yet LOL /sob
I almost wonder if he even requires a name...
:< Well, even if he doesn't REQUIRE one, I would still like for him to have one, I think.