Season 1 Prologue

"Why don't you tell me about the accident?" Dr. Aaron's voice floated to my ears. I sat in front of her, those grey eyes staring at me intently. The first time I had met the woman I had been in awe of those eyes. They were stormy, like a hurricane safely contained in small orbs. I could tell when she was becoming frustrated with me. It was like a thunderstorm in her eyes and her hair wasn't easily tamed, its red curls flying every which way. I noticed she tried to pin them back but by the end of our session a few would fly loose. She always dressed in a black suit but there was always a pop of color. Today it was blue. A dark, royal blue. It was a good color on her. She always looked nice, professional, I wondered if she looked like that on her days off too.

"I don't want to talk about that." I muttered to her. I absentmindedly rubbed at the scar on my wrist. It had been from a cut on the broken glass after the accident. I was trying to escape, and well… I had sliced my wrist open. Seven stitch marks were there along with the white line along my left wrist. I don't even remember cutting myself. I didn't remember anything really.

"Ok. We can talk about whatever you want." Dr. Aaron said. She had been doing this for months, this pushing me to open up thing. She wanted me to talk about the accident, but I didn't budge. I wouldn't talk about it. I would never talk about it. She could try to understand, but no amount of extra education could prepare someone for what I had gone through. Besides, it wasn't like I was depressed or scared. I didn't fear water, or cars. I wasn't upset about the lives lost. They meant nothing to me. I was sad that they were dead, and I felt for their loved ones but I didn't even know them so why should I feel guilt for surviving when they didn't?

"What about your family? How are they?" Dr. Aaron prodded. I scoffed to myself before picking at the end of my sweater. I knew I probably looked homeless, with my greasy unwashed hair and the ratty clothes. I didn't care though. I wasn't going to dress up for these meetings. I didn't even want to be there. It was a pathetic act of defiance, minimal and stupid as is was. But it made me feel like I was rebelling anyway.

"I don't have any family." I replied. I had only one person that I would consider family and that's my mother.

"What about your mother?" She asked like she'd read my mind. I shrugged. I hadn't really known what my mother was up to for the last couple months. In an effort to pay hospital bills, she had taken extra shifts down at the store. She was gone most of the time and when she was home she was sleeping. I couldn't get mad, even though I wanted to. She was doing everything she could to keep me fed and in a house. That didn't mean that I couldn't be upset about not seeing her like I used to.

"She's fine." I replied simply. Dr. Aaron scribbled stuff down in her notebook. I had tried to see what she was writing before but she had shifted so I couldn't. I wondered if she was writing her personal thoughts on how tough I was to crack and how much of a brat I was for not telling her everything that she wanted to know. My mother never raised me to be mean; I don't think that woman has a mean bone in her body. But she did teach me how to stand up for myself and what I thought was right and this whole therapy thing was not right for me. But it made Mom feel better so I guess I would have to endure it.

"Are you excited for school to start?" She asked me, more excited than usual. I looked up at her, meeting her grey-eyed gaze. I stared for what seemed like forever before she laughed. "Stupid question right?"

I cracked a smirk before I nodded. She let out another laugh before she wrote in her notebook again. While she wasn't looking I took a peek at my watch.

Ten more minutes, I thought to myself. I could stand ten more minutes.

"Can I ask you something?" Dr. Aaron said suddenly. I looked up from my watch surprised. She had never asked if she could ask me something. She always just kind of did it. I was used to that, but this was different. That was something I expected of her, but not her asking my permission.

"If I say no will that stop you?" I asked. She grinned for a second before she closed her notebook and leaned forward. I swallowed. I didn't like people staring at me, or people in my personal space. I wasn't one for being touched without warning or having a whole lot of attention. The fact that she was completely focused on me right now made my skin crawl.

"Off the record, but why don't you want to talk about this stuff?" She asked. I swallowed once more. "I mean, usually I can't get clients to stop talking. But you… you're different."

I chewed on the inside of my mouth. This time, it wasn't that I didn't want to talk; it was just that I didn't know what to say. I didn't know why I was so quiet. I guess I had never really had anyone to talk to before. I guess it was all the solitude that I had been given my whole life. I kept it all to myself, and figured it out by myself. I had never needed anyone else. Then in a second I was expected to spill my life story to a complete stranger. It wasn't the ideal situation.

"I guess that makes me weird huh?" I asked, looking down, suddenly self-conscious. I couldn't take the intensity of her gaze anymore. I could have a staring contest with the best of them, but only for a while. After that I just felt uncomfortable and wanted to become invisible. Not that I wasn't invisible already.

"You're not weird Alexandra." Dr. Aaron said with a voice that sounded like my mothers. She reached forward and put her hand on my knee. I flinched a little at the sudden contact but I didn't pull away. "Being different is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Yeah. But it would be easier if I was like everyone else." I said. I was surprised that I had opened up so much; even that little bit of information was a lot for me. She wasn't a complete stranger, but she wasn't someone that I knew too well yet. I didn't open up to anyone, except for my mom. I was a mysterious enigma to all around me, and no one seemed to actually care. Except for Dr. Aaron. Something about her, it made me want to trust her.

"But how boring would that be?" She replied with a grin. "Nobody likes a clone Alexandra."

"It's Alex." I told her without hesitation. She seemed surprise by my answer. "You can call me Alex."

"Well Alex." She said, like she was testing the new found name on her tongue. "It looks like our time is up."

I looked to my watch and saw that we had actually gone over five minutes. I had never let that happen. I looked back up to her and she smiled again. I nodded and picked up my bag, slinging it onto my shoulder. She followed me out of her office and stopped me before I got out the door.

"If you need me at all…" She said, trailing off as she gave me her card. It had a personal cell phone number on it. She didn't finish her sentence before she turned and went back into her office. I watched her and stayed where I was until her door was shut. I debated on throwing the card away, but I begrudgingly shoved it in my bag. I couldn't blame the woman for doing her job.

I shoved hard on the glass door and let the sunlight pour into the building. I squinted as its bright beams assaulted my eyes and warmed my skin. I was wearing so many layers; I probably should have been sweating. But I didn't mind. The summer heat would be gone before Mystic Falls knew it. I might as well enjoy it.

I found my bench, well ok it wasn't mine but it was the one that I sat at waiting for my mom, and sat down on it. The wood was warm and was a nice feeling when I plopped down. I wished I had sunglasses. Then no one could watch me stare at them and try to figure out their life stories. It was hard to do when they could see you watching like a stalker. I also wished I had a car, and then I wouldn't have to wait for mom to come and get me. I wasn't like the other seventeen year olds with fresh licenses and brand new cars that I didn't even deserve. Mom didn't have the cash, and I wasn't going to ask her for it. Even though it wasn't cool to be dropped off by your mom in an old beat up Pontiac with chipping paint or having to walk to school. I wasn't cool. I never would be. And I was ok with that.


I looked down to my lap when I felt my phone vibrate. I flipped it open to see that I had a text message from my mom. I clicked open and read the message to myself.

Hey baby. I'm so sorry but Glenn can't make it to his shift so I have to cover for him. You should take the bus if you don't feel like walking. I'm so sorry Lex!

Love Mom.

I read over it a couple more times before I slammed it shut. I wasn't mad that she couldn't make it, I was used to that. I was a big girl, I could walk. I could take the bus. But if she was covering a shift that meant that she wouldn't be home until late and I wouldn't get to see her. Again.

It was becoming a very sad pattern. She would go out early, work the whole day, and then not make it back until I was asleep. I was just bitter over the fact that I missed her and I never got to see her. I knew she was doing this for me, for us. I should have been happy that she was getting extra cash, but I couldn't help but wonder when I would get to have a conversation with her again, when I would get to hear her laugh, when I would get to hear her complain about her boss, and when I would get to complain to her about mine. I missed those small and seemingly useless things. But to me, they were the best things in the world to me now.

I sighed when I finally realized that she wasn't coming and I would have to get home myself. So I got up and started walking. I had the day off, I usually had Sunday's off, so I had all the time in the world to get home and sulk until I finally fell asleep. I was allowed to sulk today, because tomorrow would be bad. I just knew it. Tomorrow was the first day back at school, and boy was I dreading it.

Mystic Falls high, my own personal hell.

Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating a little but it was definitely not my favorite place. Sometimes I wished I could just stop going, do anything but go back. I wonder how many people would notice my absence. In all actuality, no one would notice. I was a wallflower, a nerd, and an invisible girl taking up space. I was an outsider. I didn't fit in with anyone, not that I really tried. No one wanted to talk to the bastard girl whose father couldn't even be bothered to acknowledge her existence. It was like I had a disease and if I touched them their parents would just fly away.

I liked to be alone, don't get me wrong. I wasn't one to have a good conversation and make friends. But even when I was younger I knew I was different. When we were in grade school and asked to draw our families, all the other kids had big families to draw. A mom, dad, siblings, aunts, uncles… but my picture had two lone people. Just two. I didn't have anybody else. Then we were asked what our parents do for a living. All these kids had successful parents with fairy tale jobs. And my mom worked at a grocery store.

I wasn't ashamed of my mother by any means; she was someone I strived to be. She was strong, outspoken, and not afraid to tell people how it is. And yet she was kind and gentle. She was smart and funny. She took everything life threw at her with a smile. I wanted to be like her. I tried to be like her; instead I always fell on my face.

"What is she wearing?" I hear a giggle as I walked passed a group of girls. They were younger than me, probably only fourteen. They wore short skirts and revealing tank tops. Their makeup was caked on and the dark circles made them look years older. They looked nothing like I did when I was fourteen. I had braces and a bob cut that made me look like a white Dora the Explorer.

"Hey uh, Goodwill called they want their clothes back." One girl said as I went by. I rolled my eyes and continued on my way. They continued to laugh and talk as I left. I tried not to let it bother me. They were kids, stupid girls who may or may not grow out of their meanness. I was usually invisible, but when I wasn't I was usually ridiculed. I didn't have designer clothes or expensive shoes. I barely wore makeup and when I did it was barely any for anyone to notice. I wasn't the prettiest, I was plain, average. No one would pick me out of a crowd or show interest. That was the way I liked it. Invisible, plain Alex.

I walked at a leisurely pace to my house. It was on the south side of town, a small two-bedroom house with one bathroom, a small kitchen, a small dining room, and a basement that was just a bunch of stuff thrown all over the floor. It was one floor, so I guess it would easier to escape if there was a fire. My room was right across the hall from my mom's so she could hear everything that went on. Not that I snuck boys into my room at all. I had never even kissed a boy; much less have one alone with me in my room.

The house was brick with a small yard and a tree out in front. Mom had planted that tree when she moved in, saying it would grow with me. It was pretty big now, so I guessed I was getting old. When I was little, I adored the tree, sitting under it when it could produce enough shade, climbing it when it was big enough. I even celebrated my birthday with it. It was my tree, my special place.

Once I made it to the house, I unlocked the door and stepped inside. The sun was pouring in through the open blinds and seeped into the living room. It was bright and sunny. The room was almost as warm as the outside was. I locked the door behind me, throwing my keys and bag to the floor. I kicked off my comfy black boots and walked further into the room. It was kind of a mess, mom not being home to clean it. Dirty dishes were sitting on the coffee table; a pizza box was shoved under the couch. There were random dirty clothes scattered the floor. It looked like a tornado had blown through.

With a sigh I began to clean, taking the dishes to the kitchen and depositing them into the sink. I threw away the pizza box, one sole piece stuck to the bottom with green mold beginning to grow on it. I then gathered all the dirty clothes, ignoring the fact that my mother had thrown one of her bras down, and took them to the washer in the basement. I packed a load in and started it before heading back upstairs. I then headed for the kitchen.

The dishes were covered in crumbs and stains from when they were used and I wondered just how long they had been there. I scrubbed and scrubbed until they all shined, knowing my mom would be happy to not have another job to do when she got home. I dried the dishes and put them away enjoying the fact that my fingers looked like raisins. I didn't mind cleaning, I mean, I didn't like it, but I didn't hate it like other people my age did. When you are taught that you have to do them it becomes mere habit and when you see something that needs washed, you just do it. Mom had taught me at a young age that everything comes with a price. If I wanted to make an allowance I needed to help around the house.

Once the house was cleaner than it was when I entered, I headed to my room. It was down the hall and to the left, the bedroom facing the road. My room was simple, decorated sparsely. I had dark colored walls, my mom's version of a punishment when I had started drawing on my white ones. My bed was small and had green bedding on it. I had a dresser and a tiny closet that were good enough to hold my minimal amount of clothes. I had two windows, one on each side of my bed and out of the left one I could get a good look at my tree. I had a chair in the far corner, not that I really used it. It was there for mere decoration instead of seating. But on my walls were posted all my drawings.

I had loved to draw since I was a kid. If I had a pencil I would scribble on any surface, much to the dismay of my mom who had scolded me for it. That was when she had started gifting me with art supplies. Things like sketchbooks, paints, and different pencils, without fail she would get me something that related to my drawing. I particularly liked just a charcoal pencil and a sketchpad, but she gave me other things too. I liked to draw faces, profiles, people who were in their natural element. Most of my drawings were of my mother, but sometimes I would catch someone and I would draw them. I liked natural poses, something that captured the real person and not just what they wanted you to see.

I grabbed my new sketchpad that I had bought a few weeks ago. There were only a few sketches in there, but I was sure that it would be full before I knew it. I grabbed my pencil along with it and started to draw. Once I was in the zone no one could get me out of it. When I began on an idea I wanted to finish it as soon as possible. Some sketches took days or weeks, to be finished. Some would look at a first draft and think that it was perfect, but not me. When I was drawing something it had to be the utmost perfection. Nothing else would suffice.

What seemed like mere minutes to me were actually hours. The only thing stopping me from finishing my masterpiece was when my stomach growled, alerting me that I hadn't eaten since this morning.

I sighed when I looked down at the sketch. It was simple but meant a lot. I had drawn the girls from earlier that day, the ones who were laughing at me. I drew their little group, laughing and whispering. Then I drew myself, although it was something I rarely did. I didn't know how to draw myself well. Anyway I drew a girl who looked homeless walking by the laughing girls. In the top right corner I had scribbled a few words.

They don't know you.

Those girls didn't know me. Not the real me. Everyone knew who I was, or at least they had heard of my sad little life. When I was younger it was pity that I received, but now I was not someone to associate with. No one knew that I could draw, that I enjoyed cleaning. No one knew that my mom was picking up extra shifts just to pay for the stitches I had in my wrist after the accident. No one knew that I hadn't attended the funeral. No one knew I wasn't invited. No one knew the pain and guilt I felt when I heard my mother crying herself to sleep at night,

No one knew me.

And no one cared.

Sometimes I wondered if it would have just been easier if I weren't around. My mom never deserved the cards she was dealt. She was the sweetest lady, and she didn't deserve to be treated the way she had in her life. She was supposed to be successful. She was smart, beautiful, and great with people. She would have made it in life if I hadn't come along. Sometimes I wondered if my father would still be with her if she hadn't gotten pregnant so young. She was just my age when she had me, and she raised me alone. She had no help from anyone. Not any help from her family or my fathers. They all just cast her out, myself included.

That's why I hated them.

I stood up after stewing over the piece I had just made. I made the short walk to the kitchen, searching for something to eat. There wasn't much in the house, just a half empty jug of milk, some cheese, apples that were starting to go bad, and some pop tarts in the cupboard. I settled for an apple, seeing that mom would get mad if they went to waste. Once I had the fruit in hand I headed back to my room. It was just starting to get dark, and I figured by then that mom wasn't going to be home before I went to sleep. She would probably be gone before I left the next morning too. I tried not to let it bother me, but it did anyway.

I chomped away on my apple, my stomach greatly appreciating it. I checked my phone a couple times, having only one message. It was my mom telling me she loved me. I smiled at the text sending her one back. My smile faded when I started looking through my contacts. There were three in total. Mom, our favorite Chinese takeout place, and Jeremy.

Jeremy Gilbert.

I hadn't used the number; we only exchanged them early in the summer. It was just after the accident, and his emotions were running high. Literally, he was high. I found him on the side of the road, stumbling around like a lost puppy. I was on my way from dropping mom off at her late night shift when I drove by him. I was prepared to keep going, but with the windows down I could hear his angry scream, followed by a soft cry. I forced myself to stop the car and get out to make sure he was ok.

"Why?" He whimpered when I reached him. I didn't think he really wanted an answer, not that I knew what to say anyway. What do you tell a kid who just lost his parents? I picked him up, making him sit upright. We probably looked so stupid, standing out in the middle of the road like that. But it was late and I doubted anyone would drive by anyways.

"Alright kid. Let's go." I told him and hoisted him up. I kept a hand on his shoulder so I could stabilize him. I tried no to stare, because he was crying. I doubted he would remember any of this the next day but I didn't want to make him anymore upset then he already was. He let me pull him to the car, stuffing him in and making my way to the other side. His head was leaned against the window and he was whining like a child.

No one spoke. The only sound was of him crying and engine. I tried swallowing around the lump that had formed in my throat. I never really thought about how this whole thing would affect Jeremy. I had thought of everyone else but him. His sister may have been in the accident but she wasn't the only one to lose everything she cared about. Jeremy had lost his parents too and although I didn't think drugs were the answer, maybe they could help him cope for at least a little while.

"Why?" Jeremy repeated. I tried to swallow again, the lump getting larger and larger. I didn't know what to say or what to do. He deserved an answer; I knew that. It was hard to find the words when you had no clue what the right answer was. Why did Miranda and Grayson die? Why didn't they get out like Elena did? Like I did. I remember being questioned by the police about the accident. I didn't remember anything after we hit the water. The only thing I remembered after was lying on the side of the bank, Elena lying beside me and then how I tried to flag someone down for help. I hadn't asked Elena either, how she got out. We never really spoke about it. We never really even saw each other.

"Why?" Jeremy repeated louder. When I didn't respond he started punching the dashboard. Really hard I might add. It surprised me, how angry he had become and how quickly. I swerved a little at the sudden outburst and made myself focus on the road.

"Jeremy! Stop!" I tried to reason with him but he continued to punch at the surface and his hands got red quickly. In a last ditch effort, I pulled over and forced him to stop. He was panting, breathing through his clenched teeth. He didn't look at me; in fact he glared down at his hands. His anger didn't last long before it turned back into body wracking sobs. I swallowed again, but the lump didn't go away.

"It's not fair." Jeremy wailed. I licked my lips, watching the traumatized boy in front of me. I gripped his arms tightly but gently, making sure he didn't have another outburst. The tears started flowing from his eyes and he wiped them away quickly. I felt bad for the kid. He didn't deserve this and as much as I didn't want to feel for him, I did anyway. No one deserved to lose his or her parents like that. It was so quick and no one expected it. And then his sister didn't die with them. Why should she get out and they didn't? I guess that could go for me too. I wasn't even supposed to be in that car. I didn't want to be in that car. The one time they acknowledge my existence and they almost kill me.

"You're right. It's not fair." I said. He looked up and his dark eyed gaze met mine. I could see his pupils were dilated even in the minimal light provided by the moon. I felt so awful that he was hurting so bad he decided to start doing drugs. But I wouldn't tell him to stop, and then he would never try to stop. Besides we didn't know each other. We weren't friends. What right did I have to dictate how he coped?

"Life isn't fair Jeremy. It's never going to be on your side. People will keep kicking you down when you start to feel good. They will get over this, but you never will. It's not fair. But we just have to live with it." I said to him.

He stared at me for a second before he wrenched himself out of my grasp. I let him go, not even remembering why I had held on to him for so long. I guess I just wanted to say something, anything that would make him feel better. Words would never be enough though, not for Jeremy. He wanted answers, but answers wouldn't really help. His parents were gone, and they weren't coming back.

"Can you just take me home?" He asked. I didn't reply I just nodded. The rest of the ride to the Gilbert household was silent. He didn't cry or scream. He didn't say anything and I didn't either. There wasn't anything else to say and since I couldn't give him the answer he wanted, he was done talking to me. I couldn't blame him. He was still grieving and he wanted to hear that life was going to get better. That he would forget about this whole thing, but I couldn't lie to him, I wouldn't lie to him. He would never forget and he would never fully be ok. He would struggle until it was better but he would never really be fine.

When I stopped in front of his house, an eerie feeling crept up my spine. I had never been in that house, never been invited. I was never there for family parties or get togethers. Elena and I never had a sleepover like cousins typically do. I never had dinner there, I had never even been forced into it. I never spent a Christmas or birthday there. I was never invited. It was sad really, how dysfunctional this situation was. It was sad too, just plain sad.

"Hey Jeremy." I called to him after he opened the door. I expected him to just jump out and never look back but he stopped. He didn't look at me. It was like he was embarrassed of his behavior or he just didn't want to be in the same car as me anymore. I grabbed an old receipt and a pen, scribbling my cell phone number onto it before I handed it to him.

"If you ever need anything." I said when I handed it to him. He took it gingerly before reading the number on it. He visibly swallowed before crumbling the paper up. I thought he was going to just throw it away but he stuffed it in his pocket, much to my surprise. He didn't say thank you or even a goodbye. He just scrambled out of the car and up to his house. I waited until he was inside before I drove away. I never expected anything from him after that. I just wanted to help if I could. So it surprised me when I got a text from an unknown number the next morning.

Thank you.

That was it, and I knew it was Jeremy. I hadn't replied or anything and he never texted me again after that night. I wondered if he had just done that because he had to or if he was really gracious. I wasn't one for conversation, but if the kid needed someone who wouldn't judge him then I would be there. Everyone deserved a shoulder to cry on. I didn't know if I was the right person, but I could try.

I debated on sending him a message. Just a simple "Hey" or "See you at school." But I stopped myself. When had he ever been there for me? When had any of them been there for me? Not one of them had ever lent me a hand or a kind word. Why should I do the same?

Because they're family.

I scolded the little voice in my head for calling them that. They were family biologically, but there was nothing about them that made them a real family to me. A family was there for you when you needed them. They were never there for my mom or me when I was a kid. They let me feel like an outsider for my whole seventeen years and never said anything to me. And here I was trying to tell my "cousin" to have a good day. What the hell was wrong with me?


I jumped at the sudden sound. My head whipped to the right to see a large black bird sitting outside of my window. It stood there, on the sill of my window. It looked like it was waiting for me to open the window. I stayed where I was for a minute before I stood up and made my way to the glass that it was behind. It stared at me expectantly. I had never been a fan of birds; their beaks freaked me out. But something about this one made me want to open the window, like some other force was telling me to open it. I boldly pushed it open. I half expected it to fly into my room and then I would have to spend hours trying to get the darn thing out but it didn't move. It just cocked its head to the side. It sat there staring at me, like it was waiting for something.

"Oh." I said and headed back to the kitchen. I grabbed the heel of the loaf of bread in the breadbox and headed back to my room. It was still in the same spot where I had left it. Its head was still cocked to the side and it stared at me with its beady black eyes. Anyone else would be scared of this animal's behavior but I was oddly soothed by it. I had always wanted a pet, but lack of funds and my mom's allergies prevented me from getting one. So, this bird that actively wanted to sit there and hear me talk made me feel like it was mine. Even if it was a little creepy.

"Here you go little buddy." I said as I tore a piece of bread off and gave it to him. He hesitated before he greedily took the piece and swallowed. I was still a little hesitant, this was a wild animal, but he was probably just hungry. I giggled when he acted like he wanted more. I tore off another piece and let him take it.

"Now that I've fed you, you won't go away will you?" I asked him. He continued to pick at the bread that I handed him. "That's ok. I could use someone to talk to."

Anyone else would have thought I was crazy for befriending a bird, and honestly I wouldn't blame them. I never claimed I was normal; I'm quite the opposite. But when you are alone all your life I guess you would eventually want to talk to someone or something. The best were people that didn't talk back to you. Then you didn't have to listen to them. They just listened to you rant about the stupid stuff that made you mad or the things that made you cry. The people that couldn't respond were the best listeners.

"Tomorrows my first day back at school." I said giving him another piece of bread. His beak poked me but I didn't mind. "I'm kind of scared."

That was when the bird looked up. It was like it understood or was trying to. I guess I shouldn't call it a bird. It was a crow. I laughed at myself for talking to this crow, for making myself believe that it was actually listening and understood. Maybe I was a little wacky.

"I'm not afraid of being alone. I've been alone for a long time." I continued and fed it another piece of bread. I was surprised that it hadn't flown off yet. I was getting low on bread.

"I'm afraid that it will all be different. I'm afraid that everything's going to change." I told the crow honestly. "I like being invisible. I like not being the center of attention."

It gave me another look, moving its head in all different directions. I smiled weakly before I sighed. It continued to stare; either waiting for the last piece of bread or it was trying to understand what I was telling it. I hoped that it was the latter; maybe it was some kind of mutant that could understand. It was weird, how I was spilling my guts to an animal, and yet I felt so relieved. Maybe keeping everything bottled up like I had wasn't good for me. Maybe I had been lying to myself for years, saying that being alone was good for me. Maybe I needed someone, a friend that would listen and say that I would be ok. That everything would stay the same. That I would be fine.

"I just… have this feeling. That… after the accident… no one is going to look over me anymore. I don't know if I can handle that." I said. It continued to stare at me and I sighed. I handed it the final piece of bread. It took it hungrily and without a second thought it flew away. I felt my face fall into a frown. The one thing that would hear me was gone. It was stupid of me to feel sad about my bird friend flying away so that I couldn't talk to it like it could understand English. But I guess the idea that I could tell it anything without judgement must have been the reason why I was so bummed it was gone.


I looked up to the tiptop of my tree. There sat my crow, large and majestic, on the very top branch. I felt my frown turn into a smile. It cawed at me again and I shook my head. I guess it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. With a quick push my window was closed. However, the warm feeling was gone when the window was shut. Tomorrow was going to be a day to remember. I was being crazy, no one would notice me, and no one would even know my name. Nothing was going to change. I was just nervous.

Boy was I wrong.