All I can hear is my heartbeat, pounding in my ears, as I walk up the stairs. Up the stairs and to my mothers room. I am the one who has to wake her up today. You never know what you're going to get when you wake her up, the kind loving mother or, well, the complete opposite. It's always a surpriseu. I hate surprises.

I get to her room and take a deep breath, slowly cracking the door and peeking inside. It's never something you get used to, just like gambling, you never get used to the shock when you win or grief when you lose.

I walk over to her bed and lightly tap her shoulder and whisper.

"Mom, it's time to wake up." She grumbles and slowly opens her eyes letting them adjust to my figure in her dark room. My nerves go up and goosebumps pop up all over my body.

A smile spreads across her face and I silently am relieved.

"Come cuddle and then we can make pancakes." She says pulling me down and against her. I love her, I do. Any fear of her I had a minute ago washes away, I won't be degraded yet today.

“All I’ve wanted was to be enough for you!” I sob, why aren’t I enough? She looks at me, her face twisting with disgust.

“Of course, play the victim. Why can’t you accept responsibility? No one likes people who always blame others.” She states, watching my reaction like it’s her fuel. Tears drip down my face, I don’t understand what I did wrong.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” I whisper, my legs barely holding me up.

“Are you kidding me?!” She yells. I regret saying that, I regret it, I regr- “You’re a horrible person, no one will ever want you, you’re completely worthless and a waste of a life, everyone would be better off if you’d never even been born!” She yells, her words shoot right to my core, completely shattering me.

I race upstairs to my room, shutting the door and climbing in bed. I gasp for air, tears falling like rain, my sobs shake the bed as I reach for my phone charger. I pull the charger as tight as I can around my neck and hold it, and hold it. I let go and gasp for air. I wish I was dead, why aren’t I dead?

“Do you think we could actually make it?” She asks, hesitation clear in her voice. He took a step closer to her, his hand caressed her face.

“Yes.” He whispers to her. The rest of that night is history.

“Say you love me.” She pleads, looking up into his eyes. He reaches for her waist and pulls her closer.

“I do.” He says and silences any more words. The rest of that night is history.

“Don’t ever leave me.” She says, laying in his arms. Messy hair and sheets everywhere, he looks down at her.

“I won’t.” He states without any hesitation. The rest of that night is history.

“Did you even mean any of it?” She asks, mascara staining her face.

“No.” He says before walking away. Now they were history too.

I want to write but not just to write. I want my words to change worlds and minds alike. I want my words to hit people somewhere they didn’t even know existed. I want to move mountains, change the tides, and conjure up a storm. I want to set my chaotic mind loose onto thousands of papers. I want everyone to know my words and I want to give some the hope and sign they need to finally pick up the pen and let the ink bleed instead of themselves. I will free the storm I have hidden in my mind. I can promise you that I will be heard.

The gunshots rang out through the halls.... I can’t believe this is happening. Everyone looks around unsure of what we should do. Run? Barricade? The school is dead quiet... You’d think people would be screaming. Maybe everyone’s already dead. Maybe they’re smart and being quiet so they can sneak away without drawing the attention of the guy choosing who lives and dies. Playing God. No one wins in that game, so why is he playing? As long as he can kill a lot of people, he doesn’t care. Maybe he wants to be remembered at whatever cost. Like an earthquake, a catastrophe. Tearing families, lives, and people apart.

We were running when he came around the corner shooting. The gunshots made my ears ring. A girl I’ve known since the second grade falls to the ground next to me. I have to stop, stop this.

I stop running, turn around, and walk towards him. I know he might shoot me and continue on, but maybe I can distract him. Maybe I can give everyone still alive in this school a chance to escape.

He looks surprised, does a double take. He could kill me so why would I walk towards him? The gun is in his hand at his side, he looks at me with what seems like curiosity. I wonder who he is. He doesn’t look scary, doesn’t look different from everyone. You always imagine someone who causes so much pain to resemble evil. You always think you can tell who the ‘bad guy’ is.

“I want to be remembered too.” I say, still getting closer to him. He watches me and raises his gun slightly.

“It’s like what’s the point in living a whole life just to be forgotten?” I add and that’s how I honestly feel, but I would never kill people to be remembered.

“Why aren’t you running from me?” He asks, his gun now pointing at me. He was close enough that there’s no way he’d miss if he pulled the trigger.

“I guess I’m not scared of death... The real question is why haven’t you shot me?” I question. I glance back to where my class had ran. They were gone except for the ones that lay dead on the floor.

“No one has ever noticed or cared about me before.” He says. He thinks I care about him, no. He’s a murderer, this is for everyone else. Just then police and SWAT rush from all sides and all I hear is multiple gunshots...

Oh this pain in my chest, not again

My body on fire, I just can’t win.

The demons laugh as I begin to fade

“Silly girl that’s not how this game is played.”

On nights like this they sing me a lullaby

Atleast I’m not alone, I think as I cry.

The demons, you see, are my best friends

For my time with them will never end.

The times they’re silent are the times I fear

Does this mean the end is near?

The night came where we had our last fight

I finally agreed the demons were right.

Maybe they regret all that was said

But what good does it do now that I’m dead.

They tell you to write down your thoughts,

They say it’s good for you;

A therapeutic coping mechanism.

But they don’t always realize the truth.

As soon as you write it down it’s true,

No taking it back,

No saying you lied.

Who would lie about something so personal in something as “safe” as a journal.

How could someone make up such painful thoughts.

So now all the secret thoughts are out.

No more “tough-guy” act,

No more “happy-girl” charade.

You’re just as damaged as they guessed.

Anyone could pick up the paper and read what your demons scream at you when you’re alone at night.

Anyone could read what thought plays on repeat when you’re sad.

So writing down such personal thoughts isn’t as easy as a pen and paper because you’re giving people the chance to see inside your mind.

Now you lay there,

Your page filled up as you feel empty and you realize...

You just let your demons loose to say hello to the rest of the world.