(You beat your head upon your wall, you disconnect yourself from it all.)

I stared at the ceiling. It was five in the morning. I found this to be useless information.

Somewhere along the line it had rolled into Wednesday. We didn't get any snow, but they were predicting some soon.

I hadn't gotten any sleep. This isn't necessarily a bad thing. I've gone to school having gotten no sleep before. There was no doubt I would do it again.

There wasn't any real reason to have stayed up. She hadn't been coughing as much as she usually was.

One would think this good, but it only meant she was closer to death.

I continued to stare at the white ceiling. The way the shadows from my window danced together perfectly. It didn't matter that there were blinds and a curtain blocking the nightlife from my bedroom. Shadows don't have rules or restrictions. If a shadow wants to dance, it'll dance for the world to see.

They have a certain freedom that people don't have. But why shouldn't they? They're shadows.

I'm slowly going out of my mind. It's an accomplishment.

I turned and faced the room itself. The dull pink walls, the wooden floors, the desk with a white chair, it all laid unlived. The room looked almost abandoned. Well, maybe not the bed.

I was going to probably die in this bed.

My chest began constricting. I had to take a few deep breaths for the pain to cease. I was having more and more "symptoms" of illness. I wasn't sure if it was my mind playing tricks or Olga's "sickness" finally getting to me. The monster was slowly taking over.

I thought if I did get sick I want them (whoever them is) to take me out and shoot me. Like a dog. I don't want to suffer longer then I have too.

I haven't decided if that's a normal response or not.

I've never really been quite normal.

5:45

I would have to begin getting ready soon. Face the world and everyone in it.

This really didn't seem so bad. But it was. I just can't tell you why.

By the time I emerged from the bathroom it was already six ten. I threw on a pair of red track pants and a black long sleeved shirt. My hair, in all its curly/wavy glory, was secured in a messy bun as I made my way down the stairs.

"You want me to drive you to school?" I looked at my mother. She looked exhausted. I believe she might end up in an institution soon.

"I'm ok." I grabbed an apple and gave a quick smile. Smiles didn't mean anything in my house; I don't know why I bother. "I'll see you later."

"Bye dear." She said. I grabbed my coat and my book bag and began walking down the street towards my high school.

I had stopped taking the bus two months after starting ninth grade. The whole tradition of taking a bus to school seemed to sicken me. Traditional rituals of society sickened me.

I looked at my watch as I neared the high school.

It was 6:50, perfect I mused.

As I walked into the building I was happy to be ignored by the majority of the student body. This pleased me in many a way.

"Are you ok?" I heard a soft voice whisper in my ear. I spun around and stared at the boy with the big green eyes. He was smirking.

"I'm… I'm fine." I said, staring at him. He looked so good.

This is not a time to think things such as this.

"I tried calling you last night. No one picked up." He had seen me in school, why must he bother me at home?

Granted my heart skipped a beat and I was trying to hold back a smile.

"I was studying." I shrugged, he was use to filling in my blanks with whatever thought he had and we go back to living our lives. He'd go back to living his life. I, at this point in time, had no life.

"I had a great time Saturday." He smiled.

"It was a lot of fun. Thank you for inviting me." He was following me to my locker.

"My parents simply love you. They went on and on about how nice and polite you are." I found this amusing but I held back my laughter. Laughter would be cruel.

"You're parents are really sweet too. But then again, I would expect them to be after knowing you for so long." He looked generally surprised. Why shouldn't he be? I heard the inner voice ask. You complimented him it teased. It's not much longer now.

Damn. It wasn't much longer now.

Next I'll be telling him about my parents, about Olga's sickness, how he makes me feel like a person. Like a real person, not some mistake placed here for someone's amusement. I liked being a real person.

Even though I'm not.

I looked at him. He did want to help. I couldn't deny that fact anymore. Hell, I wanted him to help. He was, after all, my obsession. He didn't know that though.

So help me, he never will.

Suddenly, I took a step back.

The monster was coming back. I had to reach my hand out to grab something. I began coughing again. I covered my mouth as my other hand tightened on whatever it had grabbed a hold of. I felt myself being pulled into something. It was warm and hard, and yet soft, comforting almost. I continued to cough into my hand.

I felt this might save someone.

The monster soon settled down and I somewhat leaned into whatever had pulled me in.

"Are you ok?" I closed my eyes tightly hoping to pretend this was a dream, that when I opened them I would be in my room safe from everything. "Helga?"

I opened my eyes and stared into his red sweater. I gently took my hand from my mouth and looked up.

I've seen this look before I thought. My mother has that look every time she even thinks of Olga. It's a cross between worried and helplessness.

"I'm fine." It was my own voice, my own thought track. "It's this weather and work, it's just…" I took in a sharp breath. "A way of life."

"Maybe you should see a doctor."

"I'm fine." I pushed myself away from him and turned to my locker. I opened the door so that it covered my view of him. I looked down at my hand as I noticed the red substance.

There is only one word in the world that would describe my thoughts, my feelings, my over all being.

Fuck.

(He laid on Park Avenue Suite, the perfect crime, the perfect crime. They never saw it coming on Park Avenue Suite, the perfect crime, the perfect crime.)

I walked home with a headache. A vicious throbbing headache.

The monster didn't rear its ugly head for the rest of the day. For this I was thankful.

Arnold watched me like a hawk, though. Everywhere I went I saw him. During lunch he followed me around the cafeteria. I wouldn't be surprised if I turned around and there he was.

I turned around and saw nothing but the cruel-ness of winter. This seemed to upset me. I pretend not to know why.

"Helga!" I turned around again and saw a sprinting Phoebe.

Where had she been all this time?"

"Hey Pheebs." I said, half smiling. I think half-smiling; maybe I hadn't smiled at all.

"Don't you 'Hey Pheebs' me, missy!" She said, trying to catch her breath and sound angry at the same time.

I looked at her feeling amused. This had to be good.

"Arnold told me about your little coughing fit this morning!"

"So, it's the middle of winter." I said coolly.

"You never get sick." Right. She's my best friend (in theory of course) she would know that.

I silently sighed. Damn.

"Ok, so I never get sick. Never say never." I waved the matter off, but we were no longer in fourth grade, Phoebe had grown a backbone. I was proud and upset at the same time.

"Tell me what's going on. Now." I looked at her and stared. Where the hell had I been while all these goddamn changes happened around me? What the hell? Did they all take a vote and suddenly everyone has to help me?

Screw this.

"Nothing!" I snapped. She took a step back, she seemed bold but she really wasn't. She didn't enjoy being snapped at. Who did though? "Everything is just peaches and cream in my life, ok? I do not need everyone fretting over whether I'm eating enough or sleeping enough. I am sixteen years old and have been independent since I was four. It didn't matter then though, did it? So who the hell cares if I'm dying or not dying. Is this reach out to Helga month? Suddenly everyone cares. Screw you guys." I turned around and began walking off.

Now, not only did I feel sickly, I also felt horrible. This is how one person can screw up their life in so little time.

"We're just trying to help." I heard her say. "We care for you."

I didn't stop or even slow my pace down. I was still too angry. I'm not sure who I was angry at, but I'm almost positive myself is at the top of the list.

"For how much longer?" I yelled back, continuing my walk home.

How much longer could they keep caring?

Not much longer I silently prayed.

Let them be happy.

I've been a lost cause since the day I was born.

The world won't stop turning for me.

It never has.

(If I die, for anything at all, I want you to know I died for love! If you don't believe that… I died for salvation.)

I found myself wandering around the dark streets of Hillwood Thursday night. I had skipped school and had stayed in my bedroom attempting to sleep.

Bob had been unaware of the extra company and was, to say the least, upset that I had stayed home.

I told him to go screw himself.

This angered him.

I remember looking at him and then, with whatever strength I had, I slapped him. I began screaming about how he was most worthless man in the world. How I so wish it were him in that bed rather then Olga. How I hope that he just ups and dies. I continued with this screaming from Olga's door, to the stairs, to the hallway, towards the front door, and halfway down the street. Screaming like a lunatic about how Bob Pataki was a deadbeat.

That had to have been, oh, seven hours ago. Give or take. It was around eight fifteen. I had gone to work and left a few minutes early. I decided I didn't want to go home yet. I use the word home loosely.

I feel, no that's not right. I don't feel. There's nothing to feel. I want to just jump into the lake and see how long I would survive. I want to test fate. Raise my fist and heckle at her. See if this will be in my favor or in hers. I assume that since I am one of the funniest cosmic jokes, I might never die. Just to make it funnier.

However, I do not bring this point to them. Sometimes a bit of cruel irony is funnier then an assumption.

I noticed that I had walked myself to the boarding house.

It was empty now, except for of course Arnold's family.

As the years went on the boarders moved, they made their own lives.

Stella and Miles had renovated it to make it more house like, more family like. I believe they have two extra rooms still, which they sometimes rent to travelers or the occasional family member.

I knew it had changed on the inside. I'd seen it.

But it was still the Sunset Arms.

They could do whatever they want to it and it would still be the Sunset Arms.

This gave me hope.

"Helga?"

I decided I hate my name.

I turned around and looked at a confused Arnold. His hands were shoved into his pockets. I looked down to see a golden retriever sitting obediently at Arnold's feet.

"Who's the dog?" I said as I walked over and knelt down, petting the soft hair. The dog began wagging his tail and drooling.

"Simon, mom and dad got him for me in seventh grade." So he was still a puppy, interesting.

"He's cute." I said, continuing to pet him.

"Thanks." Arnold smiled. He looked around and then gave me an odd expression.

"What?" I asked without looking up.

"Why aren't you wearing a jacket?" I wasn't wearing a jacket?

I looked down at myself and noticed I was still in my jeans and a long sleeved shirt. I hadn't been cold though.

"I…" I couldn't even think of an excuse. I sighed and stood up dusting my hands on my jeans. Simon decided to stare at me, waiting for me to pet him again. I looked at Arnold. "I had a fight with my dad and stormed out."

This was true.

"What did you fight about?" He asked beginning to pet Simon without looking at him.

"Things." I said.

"Ok." I was slightly surprised to see him back down so quickly. I then figured out that Phoebe had probably told him, or told Gerald who told him, about yesterday afternoon.

He did not want to get snapped at. He didn't mind before I mused.

This made it hurt all the more.

"I better go." I said, shaking my head. Granted I'm not going home but I was going.

"I'll walk you home."

You bastard.

I looked at him.

"I think I can manage." I said calmly.

"It's almost nine o'clock." He said, even more calmly. I looked at my watch and silently cursed time. Time seems to be a never-ending issue in my life.

"I'll be find Arnoldo." I said.

The grabbing of my arm suddenly stopped me.

"Jeez!" I spun around.

He wasn't smiling; his eyes weren't big and comforting. He was frowning and silently commanding.

"Whether you like it or not." He said slowly. He wasn't hurting me, he was barely even holding my arm. "I do care for you. So get off whatever little high horse you're on and let me help you."

I slowly pulled my arm away and stared at him.

"Fine." I said. My voice barely above a whisper.

We began heading in the direction of my house.

"Look, I'm sorry." He's such a softie. "I didn't mean—"

"Please, can we just not talk?" I asked, maybe commanded.

Silence enveloped around us. I really, really, did not want to go home.

Simon was slightly ahead of us, turning his head every once and a while to make sure we didn't turn any corners and go down any alleys. He was a smart creature.

When we finally reached my house I turned and gave Arnold a soft look.

"Thank you." I said quietly. He nodded his head and then smiled a bit.

He leaned in and left a small kiss on my cheek. My eyes became wide, like a dear in the headlights.

"I'll see you at school, hopefully." He smiled.

I then realized that he hadn't asked about my absence from school, but he had noticed.

I watched him walk away as I gently placed my hand over my cheek. It was warm.

I turned and walked into my house shutting the door and then leaning into it.

Then I cried.

I cried for feeling like a bitch. I cried for my sister. I cried for everything that I just didn't understand anymore.

I was so confused.

I cried for me.

Deep down, we are all selfish.

You just know that Mother Theresa woke up one morning and looked around and said "Can't I just sleep in today?"

I sat in a heap of tears and sobs at the front door.

I wanted it all to end.

(To say one is healthy is to know that mentally, physically, and emotionally they are perfect. No one's perfect. Therefore, no one's healthy.)

I feel as if I'll die soon. Not for any reason. At least that's what they'll say.

"She was perfectly healthy. How wrong it was for him to take her, at such a young age too." They will then drink coffee and eat cake and discuss the death rate of adolescence between the ages of fourteen and eighteen. I would fall in the middle. Sweet Sixteen.

Any moment now Death will walk into my room with his heavy black robes and an impatient air about him.

He'll walk over to me as I stare at him in awe. I would have known he was coming.

"Hurry." He'll say impatiently. He'll look at his watch that only he can see. "Let's go, there's much to do." He'll put out his hand. "You're wasting my time."

How can I waste his time? He is time.

I'll take his hand and we'll walk together.

I'll eventually convince him to take a break, to allow me a chance to be time. Of course he'll agree. I will have control of everything. Visible to those who are about to die and to those I want to see me.

Power will be mine.

I rolled over and stared at the curtained window.

This is proof I'm going out of my mind.

It's not much longer now.

I close my eyes tightly.

I don't think I'm going to survive.