I wrote this little piece today at school. This is unedited and unrefined.

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Bare feet stride across the cold cement. Autumn: The time of the year I hate the most. The leaves change colors and start to die. Everything dies. It is the course of nature. Actually, I think I am starting to like autumn. Every year, I die a little more. I can relate to this season.

Now, as I walk across the freezing, gray trail, I realize this is my final death. I am willingly giving myself up to the hooded demon. Perhaps that is why I can see and feel everything. Everything seems so surreal when you are about to die. The colors assault your eyes; the wind nips at every piece of exposed skin. Is frostbite settling in? No, it can't be; it's not cold enough. it definitely feels like it, though.

Alas, I see my release. The cold cement turns to cold, wet grass, turns to freezing sand and dirt. I gaze upon my reflection in the mirror below me. Standing stock still, my toes curl up. My last feeling of this earth. The sun is setting; the sky slowly turns to black. It is time. Death, befriend me and take me away.

Step one: The first (and last) feeling of icy cold

Step two: Anticipation, I can't wait!

Step three, four, five: Slowly descending deeper, down in to the black depths

Step six: Anxiety, oh God, what am I doing?

Step seven: Mouth fills up, sputtering, but still descending

Step eight: Panic, am I really doing this?

Step nine: Submerged, bubbles float up, regret

Step ten: The bubbles stop, no more thought, no feeling

The sun sets on another day. Time moves on. Life moves on. One does not.