I’m alone. Sad, tired of trying, of living. Tired of waking Â up to a bright happy world, and seeing nothingÂ exceptÂ grey, and things only I can see, hearing sounds of joy, but only hearing the voices of myÂ despair. Franks gone now. Replaced, forgotten. Austins here. He’s just as bad. Eyes areÂ staring, watching with a pointedÂ loadedÂ gun, Â or a knife waiting for the right time. I am forgotten, none cares for the sake of me, waiting for the right time. 17. The magic number. 15, countdown. They say if I die, I’ll be back in my world, back in Hallaqu, with Austin, and Goob, Frank, and 200. My only friends. Only one remains with me. Watching and giving advice. Telling me what to do, what not to do. Controling my thoughts, feelings and actions. 10 puffs. Thats all it takes. 10 and my heart fails. Cardiac Arrest. Dead. Gone. Forgotten by family, friends and the room online. No one wants me here.
No one cares about blackpool17.