She lay there, pale and pasty with a layer of grey smothered over her skin. Her head was slumped against the drawer like a dead flower as her arms hung limp on her sides. Her cheeks had been stained with tears and I wondered whether she really wanted to die.

Am I a flame? I wonder, but I already know. I got too close and now I'm one of them. An angry flame that has spread like a bushfire turning everything in my path to ashes. That's what we'll all be soon. Nothing but ashes. Nothing but dust.

She flew past me, exiting the house as if she didn't smell the scent of a dead man lingering over me, as if she didn't hear the screams that were trying to flee from my gut, as if she didn't see the blood that painted my hands.

I don't want to be there when I die.

A mirror doesn't give a man a true reflection of who he is. It doesn't show him what's on the inside. It doesn't show him the things he covers up with a smile whilst standing in front of it, telling himself he's okay. Death will. His true form will stand before him, stretched out forming the thickest, darkest truths he's ever seen.I don't want to be there when I die. Death. Although it comes once, it lasts forever.

Death. Although it comes once, it lasts forever.

Memories. That's all I have left. Memories of all the good I've done and all the bad too.