March 4, 2011
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This rope of saddness creeps around my heart, strangling it.
I pass by the brown house near my school.
I'm inside it, reminising with a friend about the simpler the days I so desire.
And there I stay, talking on loop forever.
I'm trapped.
As I pass that house near my school, I pass my grandmothers house nearby.
Inside, I can see myself eating Christmas dinner with my whole family. Excitement fills my younger siblings stomach's more than their dinner as they know opening colorful presents of Christmas magic is in their near future. It's nearly spring outside but we are still celebrating Christmas inside that house. We don't know we're not suppose to be there. We don't even realized we're trapped.
That rope of grief, saddness and loneliness grows even tighter around my heart.
It's not long now.
But, wait,
What's this?
A hand is grabbing at the rope.
All hands look alike, who knows if the blood that runs through that hand is magnanimous and noble, or is soiled and evil.
It's-it's pulling on the rope.
Feelings of despair and grief and terror and saddness and lonliness fill the air, as the hand is tugging on the rope. It is with these feelings that I pulled the rope tighter, making my heart pop.
I set myself free, I am no longer talking with that friend or celebrating Christmas.
I am dead.

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