I’ve been told this is what geniuses say when they have an epitome, but I don’t want to think about this. Though I suppose it could also help if I knew how to spell the word genius without auto-correct. I’m fifteen years old, though I don’t remember most of it. I mean, there must be some reason I was put in THIS body, but why don’t I know what it is? I don’t know why, but I’ve recently developed a fear of death that I used to not have. I suppose it’s because the days keep moving by so fast and I know one day I’m going to be lying on my death bed wondering what comes next, what I did in life that’s really worth people remembering me by, what’s the purpose I was put in this world for, because no ,matter how hard you try you can never know why you’re here and how you effected people. Could it really just end there, or could death be an adventure worth a lifetime? I’m fifteen, having a midlife crisis on May fifth at midnight. I used to not be afraid of dying, but I’m worried everything will go by in a blink. I’m sure you know when you’re dying; I just can’t imagine accepting the thought. How can you be satisfied with your life? What are the decisions that make you who you are, and that make a mark on history? What makes a person extraordinary, out of the crowd, because I want to know its secrets. I want to have books written about me, but I’m just me, and I’m afraid that won’t be enough.