why did you leave me here ?

If they all could see me in this moment, they wouldn't be happy.

"Why did you go through with it?"

"Why didn't you come see me?"

"Why did it take you so long to find me?"

"Why didn't you do more?"

They watch over me like an almighty council of angels, those you should fear and you end up facing at the end of it all. When the skies open up for me and I am faced with meeting them again, they will shake their heads disapprovingly and continue asking me over and over, those same four questions that repeat in my head daily. They'd spare me no remorse, as I don't deserve it- instead they'll cast me down and make me go through the same ends they met, while I relive it from both perspectives. I'll be eight years old again having to put that poor hurt mouse out of it's misery, then I'll be ten years old waiting to bury what's left of my childhood cat, then I'll be eighteen years old finding the other cat under the neighbour's house, and last I will be nineteen years old looking for the turtledove that I'd just saved from the current cat. I will have to watch helplessly once more while it gets gutted, and looks me in the eye to ask what's wrong with me.

I didn't mean to. I don't know what's wrong with me. I wasn't even supposed to get past fifteen; but none of that matters to the turtledove as its vision slowly leaves and I have to watch.

The world did not end when I was fifteen years old, and I didn't end up going through with that plan atop the roof- I chickened out last minute and confessed to what I'd tried to do to myself. Although I understand myself better now, and I finally know myself, I can't help but remember the world ending. Some days I am a ghost with no body and the world had ended up caving in on me. Some days I haunt this house and watch the day go by like nothing had ever happened. Everyone's forgiven me, and hopefully they will forget me.

Other days I'm back in my body; the world didn't end and it turned out okay. Those are most of the days now. I still feel like a ghost but one that worked to haunt this body and this house, someone who's remembered and treasured, and the world didn't cave in.

I don't know what else there is to come, but I know at the end, once more I will have to answer to those four angels as they ask me how I plead, watching the tape rewind on my life in the courtroom that is purgatory. Who will be the jury? What will they think of me? I doubt they'd have a say, or it would fall silent to the deaf ears of the merciless council of angels that I will have to worship and work for to at least get a less fiery spot in the pits.