• I was a mere dusty memory, nothing better to hold or captiveate. She could not grasp her eyes on me, I was a distant image behind a glass window. I slammed my hand on the door, crying silent cries to her when I knew she could not hear me. She was sitting on the couch, crying into her arms. I tried to let her know I was here, still in exsistance. She could not hear me. Her older sister walked in and sat by her, hugging her. She was looking down at a photo in her hand, talking to her sister.
    "Kaya!" I called, but no words came out of my mouth. She was unable to hear me, and that was all i could evenly process in my brain. Her words echoed in my ears as she cried.
    I pulled back, standing. My mind was bleak. If I spoke, no one would hear me. What was the point of all this?
    I began running, leaping over the wooden fence and out into the yard. The streets were full of headlights and cars and people in houses slowly turning ights off. I touched my eye to wipe away tears, looking down. I kept walking, getting further and further from Kaya. After the lights completely turned off in the neighborhood and the area was quiet except for my slow breathing, I crossed the street. I followed the sidewalk to a small and eerie building, and I crossed it's dark, metal fences. Ahead of me were large stones in shapes of crosses, angels, and other religious things. Roses' petals were tugged off the plant on the wind's empty pull, passing me and filling the dreary place with a better scent than before. Elegant flowers adorned everything, on dirt piles and in the fence corners. I picked one, and it just drifted out of my hand. In my mind echoed the past events of the day, A gun, Kaya screaming, lots of tears, and then everyone ignored me. It was as if I was dead.
    I sat by a stone, looking at it. Just then I realized where I was. A graveyard. The stone was in the shape of a cross, and patterns of many colored roses sat on the pile of dirt under it. I looked up at the gravestone and read it in my head, my weary tears finally beginning to go away.
    Behind all the dust and sorrow in my head, I was able to read the words very easily on the stone: Seth Sheyan- B. December 29, 1994, D. April 12, 2010.
    Seth Sheyan. My name. April 12. That was yesterday.
    I turned from the gravestone, clutching my head. What the hell? IF i'm dead, then how can I be here? Still alive?
    This was wasting my day. My time. Just like yesterday, that dark evening when that guy had the gun. I told him to back off, right? And he-
    He shot.
    I could feel my heart in my throat, and I was dramatically choking on my tears, backing away. I couldn't tell what was going on. Was I really...
    "Dead," I whispered. "I'm dead."
    Time seemed to have been wasted. And time wasted me.