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The following text was written on October 29, 1999. It is one of the oldest short piece I possess, for I did not use to keep it.

Things stopped growing up a few years ago.
Or later.
Is it so important?
Is it real?
Maybe it was the sunshine dancing on our foreheads, maybe it was the trees dancing in the soft summer breeze, branches waving in the most dazzling blue emptiness, maybe it was the blood on that tiny wretched body we did not even see.
Whatever.
We were. We knew it.
It was now and here. Really. For the first time.

Maybe the nightmare is not supposed to end.

Maybe, in a sense, isolation is what keeps me alive.

Remember.

Remember
It smells like breath.
Sounds so,
Moves so.
Kill or die
Kill or die
Kill or die

Remember.
We were kids. These were laughter. You did drugs.
You fell
You felt
The truth
Was there
One kill
One win
One lie
One die
You killed
You knew
The truth

Remember.
We were kids. They had teeth, they had smiles. You had things in your eyes, and your veins.
Hadda die
Hadda die
Hadda die
Hadda da-hie

It started raining.

Something… I think…
Something was stuck in my throat.
It never came down. Neither out.
It’s been there
ever since…

fists.