It is difficult to breathe in deep when you can't stand up tall. It is difficult to stand at all, when there is no room and you haven't eaten for days. Even asking Soll for help is out of the question. Where has he disappeared to anyway? 

There are two truths in life that matter. They say we are born alone and die alone. That could be a truth but it isn't. Not at all. We are born attached to our mothers and we die... Well, I guess we do die alone. 

At times like these, it's easiest to refer to ones self in the third person, which is the second truth (or the first if we don't consider the death thing a truth, afterall). At times like these, it's easiest to refer to ones self in the third person. 

She lies there, on the cold floor, with a bloody nose and the imprint of asphalt on her cheek-cold and hungry and unable to move. Paralyzed, I want to say but then, I could move my fingers and toes if I concentrated hard enough. I could even... lift up my head? Perhaps not. 

Soll, as they like to call him, could have helped, had he shown up in time, but instead, he had to go off and get himself killed, or lost... perhaps both. Instead he had to get himself lost, and me... well me, he had to abandon. 

I try to take in the fresh country air. Ironic. One spends all ones life trying to get away from all the things that make him belong, and on ones death bed one wishes to take in the fresh country air-the same air I've resented for years. The same air I've resented all my life. But then what do you expect of a small-town girl with eyes fixed on the big city? 

Soll, as they called him, was supposed to sweep me away, take me along with him. "Where do you want to go?" He even asked me once. "Where ever you go." "Oh girly, you're so naive." I thought he meant "sweet." 

It is the most difficult thing I've done, trying to breathe. How I've done it for so many years, is beyond me. Has breathing always been this painfull? Suddenly, I don't remember a time when my lungs filled with air without careful consideration and this throbbing in my chest. And now, his body, once warm and full of life, is losing its appeal along with its warmth. 

Perhaps if he hadn't been so rough... 

At times like these, it's easier to refer to ones self in the third person. At times like these it's easiest to see things as an outsider. An outsider, looking in, witnessing... 

"Take me with you, please. Please. Please, take me with you." He was supposed to have saved me, from this wretched town, these wretched people with their wretched lives! 

Perhaps the timing was off. They say timing is everything, in life. That might be the second truth. I never did have good timing, come to think of it. Even my birth came at the wrong time, two days after my grandmother had died and a week before my brother would jump off a cliff. Why should this surprise me? I should have expected it. How naive I have been.

Perhaps if he hadn't been so rough.

It's hard to tell how many days have passed. How many days now, we've been lying here, in eachother's arms, waiting. "Soll.. Soll?" I want him to wake up. The whole thing was a big misunderstanding. I am sure of it. 

Perhaps if he hadn't been so rough! 

She lies there, her head resting on his cold torso, with the imprint of his shirt buttons on her cheek and the drench of dried blood piercing her nostrils-cold and numb-waiting. 

"Oh Soll, why did you have to go on and be a jerk? Why did you make me do this?" There are two truths in life, that's what I'm certain of. Timing is everything. And in times like these, it's definitely easiest to refer to ones self in the third person.

As for death. There is no such thing as dying alone. Soll, I'm sure of it. There is no such thing as dying alone.