Possibility is not a facet of opportunity. It's one of fate. And I've never been one to fear destiny.

Still there are some, braver and more valiant than their peers, who face their demons head on, staring defiantly into the shadows, demanding forgiveness.

Go to the cops then!” I shout. “But mind if I ask what you plan on telling them? Because saying two dead teenagers came to you in the middle of the night and told you something or someone is going to kill you is only going to get you locked in a cozy, padded cell.”“Well, it has to be better than spending another second with you.”“Make sure they put that on your headstone, will you? Right below ‘Here lies Benedict Bartholomew Ford. He had no friends and a really stupid name’.

It's funny. Looking back, none of it seems to matter now, those moments of yearning, craving to belong with people I thought mattered. No more fragments of glass, pieces of a broken mirror you can't put back together and wouldn't want to even if you could.