Don't expect an ending just yet, sometimes really great stories come in pieces :D

"The grass is always greener on the other side," muttered a determined Gwyn. She sat completely still on the white plaster walls of the kitchen, passed by its inhabitants as an unnoticed speck. Her huge, gooey eyes remained glued to her destination and her small, paper-thin wings buzzed eagerly as she waited to launch into flight. And today I will make it to that other side, she finished mentally.
Her destination in fact wasn't really green, or even grass for that matter, but a shiny silver can. Its insides were lined in a filmy black bag, full of nothing more than delictable trash. Images of soggy apple cores, moldy orange peels, stale bread slices and cracker crumbs flooded the hungry little fly's mind. Gwyn's mouth began to water, as she began to count down.
Five.... Four.... Three.... Two...-
Before she could even imagine a "one" a humongous orange paddle came swinging at her, breaking her free of her day dreams. Gwyn escaped the weapon, but just barely. Now hiding in the corner of the room behind the kitchen table, she observed her attacker.
Holding the paddle was an enormous monster. In the tiny eyes of Gwyn the creature was hundreds of stories high, with an unhappy scowl and chubby, flailing arms.
"EEEEE," the creature screeched. Unevenly placed on both sides of her head was a pigtail, decorated with two unmatching bows.

And no I haven't finished yet, SORRY....

Someone smart kinda told me this.

"Silence isn't always golden,
and 'by-myself' isn't always easy.
If the quiet makes it easier to think, then tell me this-
what if you're left with thoughts you don't want to think?
You don't know what you got 'til it's gone isn't necessarily true.
You know exactly what you got from the start- truth is, you don't know how much you'll miss it until you're actually MISSING it.
"It's my fault and I'm sorry" isn't always true either- not until you mean it.
And even then, it's not always acceptable.
And when you're willing to do anything to make up for it, there's always one thing you can't do no matter how much you're willing-
Let it go."

A detailed definition of depression

Depression is that little voice, nagging away in the dark of your mind, hiding behind all the negative thoughts and numerous fears. It's the disappointed reflection staring you down in the mirror, and the always unsatisfied desire to be something so much different.
Depression is that girl surrounded by so many friends that can't help but feel very alone; she watches them with sad and unnoticed eyes, dreaming of their attention but afraid to go after it. For her, it's not so difficult to back into a corner and watch her life pass before her like a ghost. She feels much more like the stranger or the outsider than the main character of her story.
Depression is the exhaustion from trying too hard, and never feeling successful. It's dissatisfaction without determination- it's the desire to give up after realizing things will never brighten up.

There's the friend...

There's the friend we can't help but want to sing in public with; and that friend we don't mind singing in front of.

There's that friend you can pour your heart out to, and in return they'll let you  in on their heart. 

There's the friend your so jealous of 'cuz she's so beautiful, the same friend that won't own up to it already!

There's the friend you can't imagine your life without, and your memories together are imprinted into your mind so hard that no matter how many times you hit your head you'll never forget.

There's that one friend who's made you laugh SO many times you're just looking at her and you can't help but break out into a smile.

There's the friend who'll sometimes seem a little clingy but you still love her to absolute pieces... and, yes, vice versa....

There's that friend with so many problems she could write her own series of math books, and yes you've heard EVERY ONE OF THEM. 

There's the one friend who talks so much you can't help but feel like the shy humble one, and the friend who'll never talk that makes you feel like the loud and annoying one.

There's always going to be that one friend who HAS to be in charge, and even though it ticks you off a bit you can't help but follow her 'cuz you love her that much.

There are those friends you love like sisters, and that one special friend that when he talks with you your heart skips a beat and your face flushes red.

Time to time there's the friend you turn your back to, and later you guys are laughing together again- these are the most forgiving of friends. 

There's the friend you're alike in every single way (thinking we were secretly twins in another life....) and the friend you have nothing in common with but some how you never fight.

There's those small secrets and cute inside jokes you share with certain friends that others will never find out.

There's the friend you pass notes with in class, and the friend you pass notes with between classes. 

There's always that one friend where you can't help but scream "I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN FOREVER!" even though it's been only half an hour. 

There's that group of friends you will not leave until everyone's given you a hug- and I mean EVERY ONE.

There are those friends you can pig out in front of and not feel guilty, then there are those friends you won't eat with at all because you're so afraid of their opinions. 

There are those friends who are super sensitive... and those friends who'll forget you can be a little super sensitive yourself.

There's at least one friend (or every friend) you know who's mind is so sick and twisted you can no longer call yourself innocent. 

And then there's the one awkward friend who stands out like a peacock among chickens, and even though it's so obvious, if someone says a word you will personally tear their head off.

And of all these friends there's not one I'm ashamed of.  

the first of many confessions

Really, the beginning took place somewhere in that last fight- with just me and him. Something in the harsh tone of his voice found it's way into my head, and like a pesky fly it buzzed continuously until it was loud enough to erupt into a full blown-

"I HATE YOU!!"

Of course I didn't mean it; I loved him too much. But there was just too much going on, and after years of bottling everything up I absolutely needed to release it. And so repeatedly I screamed, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!", only to raise his anger as well. 

Maybe it wasn't one of those violent raging fights you see on TV, with fists flying and blood everywhere; but in my opinion, it was just as bad. With every furious stomp he gave and every roll of his eyes I felt like he was bringing a sledgehammer to my heart. And as the pieces of my heart grew even smaller, I shrieked until my voice grew hoarse. 

"I hate you!" I shouted hysterically. "I hate you!"

"'I hate you, I hate you,'" he mimicked disgustedly. 

He seemed so cool, so tough, and so untouched with his arms crossed and a disapproving smirk pulling at his lips. Looking back I regret trying to break that. All I wanted, at that moment, was to make him cry. I wanted his hands to tremble, I wanted his eyelids fluttering with disbelief, I wanted to know someone cared. I wanted to here an "I'm sorry"- even though he did nothing. It wasn't his fault.

"I HATE YOU!" I bellowed with strong, passionate frustration. Tears were trickling from my eyes like rain,  as his shoulders started to sag just a little bit.

"Laine..." he whispered, but mercilessly I continued. 

"No," I cry at the memory. "That was good enough, stop!"

But I kept going.

"This is all your fault. I will never trust you again- I will never talk to you again. If that's what you want, you can have it all- I don't need any."

"Please, La-"

"You can share it with someone else," I spat.

He stood there, arms loosely crossed and jaw hanging open. Hurt shined in his eyes, but I was too selfish to notice. 

"I'm sorry," I concluded, walking away.  

  

the ending

"I-I-"
He was right. What was there left to do? There was no time. I knew they'd be here any minute now...
After wasting a couple moments just staring into the distance, lost in hopeless thought and silent panic, Dr. Grant interrupted-
"Now, what did you see, Cassandra?"
Immediately, my heart began racing uncontrollably fast. My shrill, desperate shrieks of terror rang through out the room; I thrashed my legs out as far as I could, throwing my fists in the air violently, like a trapped animal.
"Cassandra!"
"NOOOOOOOO!"
"Cassandra! Cassandra!"
"NO! NO! They're coming, they are coming!"
Already I could hear the planes soaring ahead over the hospital, above a sleepy little unexpectant town. With adrenaline overflowing my veins,  I kicked free of the nurses' choke hold grip and raced for the door.
"Cassandra-"

"Mother!" M-Mother," I coughed. The air was so thick and smokey I might as well have been swimming through it.
"Mooother," I called, choking on my words. "D-Dad-dy!" 
Behind my bedroom door I could hear a faint call echoing.
"Cassandra..." I could feel my heart shattering like broken glass when I realized it was my sister's voice fading away out there.
"Kandra!" I pounded on the door, shouting through violent fits of uncontrollable coughing and gagging. Through the blinding, eye watering smoke i couldn't find the door knob; I was forced to close my eyes, it burned so fiercely. 


"Mother... Kandra... Daddy..."
"There, there Cassandra," Dr. Grant comforted. He sat on his knees beside the crying girl, who was crouched into a little ball, squeezing her knees to her chest and bawling her eyes out. Slowly she rested her head on his shoulder and let him stroke her hair, like and old dog. While she soaked his shoulder with her warm salty tears, she moaned sorrowfully, "I told you they'd come. I told you... Now look at what they've done."
"It'll be alright, Cassandra." He hugged her even closer.
The old man was pretty close to crying him self; this was his patient's third panic attack since the catastrophe she'd been rescued from almost a month ago.
"Horrible tragedy," he'd explained to the press only a few weeks before. "Of course we expect this to be difficult; what a traumatizing experience for an eight year old! But I'm sure she'll show signs of improvement soon enough."
"Daddy," Cassandra whispered. "Help me, Daddy... Where are you, Mother?... and Kandra..."
"We're trying our hardest, dear," the weary doctor responded.   

Yeah, I know it's not finished, sorry:D

The door swings open, door knob banging into the wall behind it. Nurses flood in, wearing every facial expression from annoyed to alarmed, and running in behind the herd is Dr. Grant. They find me in the corner of the hospital room, sprawled across the bed screaming bloody murder. With my fists pounding, my feet kicking, and my head shaking furiously, I try to explain, "They're coming, please, they're coming!" I watch the nurses bind me down to the bed, using my wrists and ankles; no one seems to be heeding my obvious warning.
"I'm saying this as loud as I can!" I shriek hysterically.
Dr. Grant kneels beside the head side of the bed, offering a small, reassuring smile. I allow him to comb his long, bony fingers through my hair. It's oily and unkempt, like a mistreated animal's. By now I've stopped squirming, but tears still stream from my eyes like a water fall as I moan heavily, "They're coming, why can't you hear me, why won't you listen... please, Doctor..."
Patting my shoulder, Dr. Grant calmly replies, "It'll be alright, Cassandra. It'll be alright."
"You people don't understand, I've seen it, I'm sure they're on their way now-"
"Shhh, Cassandra... Shhh."
Even in the dead of night, practically the early hours of dawn, with only the light of the hall way peering in from the cracks of the door Dr. Grant's deep blue eyes glittered like the sparkling constellations of a clear midnight sky. I could make out the large and baggy wrinkles underlining his eyes and edging the sides of his smile. His ghostly white head of hair seemed to glow in the dark, like it shone in the bright rays of daylight.
All I could do was nod. In the last couple of days, in this seemingly harmless and cleanly hell, I'd been trying my hardest at convincing them to save themselves.They must have believed I was insane, for no matter how much I begged they would not bother to listen. Just as Dr. Grant was doing now, they'd only smile and nod. I could tell looking into their large, open eyes they felt sorry for me. Yet I still couldn't bring myself to give in.
"Please," I beckoned even further. "Just- please, just consider." I ask it, like a prayer whispering as soft as the whistling winds, looking upward in search of a merciful God.
"What do we need to consider?" he questioned laughingly.