I slam the door open, out of breath. As I step out on to the cold roof, I look around, I pull my sweatshirt close to my body, trying to stay warm. The cold air stings my eyes, and then I find what I’m looking for.

“STOP! You can’t do this, please. Please don’t do this, you don’t have to. Come on, lets head down, we can talk about this. We ca- we can work through this,” my voice breaks.

“There is nothing that you can do. You already screwed up my entire life. You f***ing ruined me, you did this to me. I hate you, so much.” He turns away and starts to walk towards the edge of the building.

“Please, you can’t do this to me. You know I never wanted to hurt you, YOU KNOW THIS.” My desperation leaks through my tone. “Stop it, you’re just being selfish, this isn’t what you want. This isn’t what anyone else wants for you. You can stop this, just please, lets head down.”

“You know what? F*** you. You are so entitled that you think you can control me. You have no idea what you did to me, how this has affected me, and you know what else? I am selfish, but guess what? I don’t care anymore. I really don’t. Anything and everything you say is probably true, but because of what you did, I don’t care anymore. Screw you.” He takes a step closer to the edge.

As a last ditch effort, I make my way up to him, barely able to speak, everything I want to say is choked behind my emotions. I open my mouth, but no sounds come out. He looks at me, with one last sad look.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “You, you did this to me,” he responds. He pushes me away, and I fall to the ground. I look over just to see his body fall over the edge. He falls as if in slow motion. I can’t move. My body is frozen to the ground. I can’t believe it, my friend, someone who trusted me with everything, someone that I had betrayed, had just killed himself, because of me. I stand up and run to the edge. A single tear falls from my eye, leaving a wet trail where it falls. The adrenaline runs through my body, I want to do everything I can, but it’s too late. I can’t do anything.

Splash. I look over just as I see the body hit the ground. My whole body shakes, I can barely stand. I am speechless. I watch as the puddle on the ground goes from a muddy brown to a deep crimson red becoming impregnated with the blood of a man who had just killed himself.

This, this dream, this dream haunts me, and it never stops. I can never live down what I have done, what evil I have committed. I can never be forgiven and I can never forgive myself. I hate myself, but nobody knows why. Nobody knows what happened that day, what I did. Nobody will ever know, because the one person who knew, is dead now. I hate myself so much, and I don’t know what else I can do.

I have nothing to live for, but I can’t kill myself, not after what happened. This is my Hell, being here, living out every single one of my days with a stake through my heart, having me suffer until the devil thinks I’ve had enough. I wait for the day that my torment ends, but the days just keep on getting longer, the dreams, thoughts, they still haunt me, and everything I do. I can’t continue on like this, but what else is there for me to do? I have nothing, and there is nothing that awaits me except eternal suffering.

That night, was terrible. So many cops, so many witnesses, but no one knew that I was up there. No one knew what I had done. No one knew what he said to me. No one knows that I am the one who should be blamed for his death, I am what pushed him over the edge. I am the one who made him take his own life. The blood is on my hands. The school is my worst nightmare. Every day, I am reminded of him, and I am reminded of what I did. I am reminded of why he died, and why I should be the one who gets the blame. But the blame never comes. I go to school just like everyone else, but I am different, I am different because none of my classmates are murderers. And I am.

I wake up, I get dressed, I eat breakfast, I go to school. I go to class, I go to lunch, I finish school, I go home. I get home, I do my homework, I take a shower, I go to bed. Repeat. This is my everyday life, which seems very typical, but as I go through all of these everyday activities, I find myself alone, desperate for change, hoping to find something to live for, and trying to move on from my sins. But I can’t. Because killing someone is not something you can just forgive yourself for. Killing someone is something that shouldn’t ever happen, and if it does, then you are some of the worst types of people. And I am one of them. I am a killer, and I killed my friend.

I have no friends. Ever since the incident, I threw away anybody and everybody that meant anything to me, because I don’t deserve what they were giving me. They supported me, tried to help me, but they didn’t understand that what happened was my fault. It was all my fault. How could they understand? So now I am alone, which is better off for everyone, I don’t want to hurt anyone else. I don’t want the opportunity, so I isolate myself, I get rid of my connections. It’s better this way. It’s better if no one else can be hurt by my stupidity, my ego. No one can be hurt by me. Not again.

What should I have done? What should I have said? What could I do? It’s like this because I made it this way. I’m the one who caused this. I am the sole reason for the suffering of so many. I am the cause and there is nothing I can do to change this. I did this. I did this. These thoughts haunt me, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. I am not even living anymore, at least, not really. My body continues to function, and I can still move around. I breathe, I blink, I walk. I do everything that I should do. But I am not truly living. I am not truly alive. I am just here, on this earth, doing what was assigned to me.

How can I be forgiven? How can I move on? I can’t. I want to, but the guilt is so overwhelming that all of the possible reasons why I should be forgiven are thrown out the window and burned in the deepest pits of Hell. I want to forget what happened, but how can I? How can something, that is burned into the back of my skull be forgotten? The answer is simple, it can’t, so I will continue on with my boring, dull, pointless life. People try to help me, but they don’t know what to say, they don’t know what’s wrong. Of course, they don’t, they weren’t there. No one was there except for me. No one knows what I did, no one knows that I am a murderer, so no one can help me. I am all alone. But it’s better this way. Yes. It’s better this way. Better that no one knows. Better that no one can help me. Because if they try, I’ll only end up hurting them too.

This is my Hell.