The Dead Legend

I wrote my story, hectic as it was, I couldn’t count the pages. No one bought it because of the weight it carries. How beautiful it was, though the pain was searing. In the first chapter, I suffered. It opened a wound I can’t remember. Not much was going on, but the pages were running in numbers. In the second chapter, things got better. Home never felt lovelier. Lived every day like the last day of December. Waiting for something new, or sometimes someone. In the third chapter I met a stranger. He looked just like me, but his eyes were amber. I believed it was a dream, so I never told my mother. When I got to the fourth chapter, it didn’t have any ink. Blank pages I saw, but somehow I could read. A boy died ’cause his heartbeat was weak. His mother cried, and it felt selfish to breathe. In the fifth chapter I died. I imagine many cried. There were many more chapters ahead, but I couldn’t read the rest. Now that I’m gone, I’m certain they’d call me the best.