I remember the days when I was 'popular'; when you two and I would joke around, you tossing your hair over your shoulders and me rolling my eyes at anything or one that dare defied us.

I remember the day I told you I was suicidal and you said I was just being overdramatic. Then, when I first self-harmed, you told me to get over it.

I remember trying to tell you and you wouldn't listen. I tried to tell you something was wrong but you just ranted about soccer practice or about the book report I had already finished but you hadn't even started it.

I remember how you told your mom I was bullying you and my mom got mad at me for bullying; you started hanging out with Ava Case, the girl that bulied me specifically.

I remember how in fifth grade, a year after that, you remade your little gang without Carissa and I don't even care I'm using your names because you hurt me so much.

I remember telling my mom, 'Please don't send me there, I can't do it anymore,' and her telling me to stop being truant.

I remember refusing to go to school not one or two times but five times due to your bullying. You laughed at me when I had an anxiety attack and you told everyone who I tried to befriend me awful lies and I was left wondering why no one would talk to me.

I was ten. And you destroyed any bit of self-worth or self-esteem or confidence I ever had. Because of you, I thought of killing myself everyday for two years. Thats 730 days.

I'm terrified to go back to school even though it's been 5 years. Because every time I try to ask for help, I've been rejected or belittled. And that started with you.

Depression isn't what everyone says it is.

Depression is a lot like drowning. It's like feeling you can't breathe. It's like feeling alone even when you're surrounded by people.

Depression physically hurts; it's a hole in your chest that gets bigger and bigger until everything is tainted with sadness and your therapist thinks you're just being stupid and, and, and-

Depression is like a lense in the camera; a spill of paint on the perfect painting. It changes the way you see everything. And you're told to just 'get over it' or 'stop being dramatic'.

And we wonder why all our kids are killing themselves.

Why me?

We were getting along so well.

Why me?

At least, I thought so.

Why me?

I even went to their birthdays.

Why me?

I never go to birthdays.

Why me?

Maybe I'm just too stupid.

Why me?

Too desperate.

Why me?

Yes, that's it.

Why me?

It has to be.

Why me?

They posted that online?

Why me?

Look at the comments...

Why me?

I should do what they say.

Why me?

I deserve it.

Why me?

I'm sorry.

Why me?

I always thought of life as a story, just waiting to be finished. My dad agreed with me, before the first wave of flames hit us.

The Flames hit us hard; although, that was expected, since Phoenix was pretty hot, and it was summer. Still, I remember my father pushing me in the shelter as he was consumed by the orange and yellow heat. I remember my brother pushing Clay and I behind him, and I remember Parker pulling us deeper inside the city. I remember seeing the bright of day once more; and I remember the guards leading us to the Center.

"We'll be okay," Tyler, my brother, whispered in my ear. But I wasn't scared of the fire. I wasn't scared of what it could do or what I had seen I was scared because I liked watching the fire consume person after person, their screams drowning in the waves of orange.

I was twelve then.

Now I was twenty-one, and my brother was twenty-six. Clayton was still at the Center because he was only fourteen, but we visited him daily.

We had both joined the Rebirth team, the group of elite thinkers that worked together to reuild the outside world. Although, there wasn't much left. We were just on the outskirts of the city, guns swinging wildly left to right, knees bent slightly, ready to jump. There was an old parking garage up ahead, the stone black from soot.

"Y and Z, your turn," My buddy, Jack, said with a smirk behind his fireproof mask. Tyler raised an eyebrow at me and gestured for me to go first. I entered the wide opening meant for cars and swung my gun loaded with a fire-squelching agent around. "Clear!" I yelled, starting up the ramp. That's when I heard the click.

Then, a calm day turned into the Devil's nightmare.

"Run!" Tyler screamed as soon as his boot stepped off the mine. Flames exploded out of it and I watched as my brother was eaten by the orange and yellow madness. My ears rang but I still heard his screams. I was propelled the rest of the way up the ramp, and then I just ran, ran up the next ramp and the next until I was out the top. Frantically I looked around, tearing my helmet off. The glass was cracked and I couldn't think with it on.

"Sir!" Someone shouted from behind me. A fireman. "Come here, I can help you!" He yelled. I pointed to the ramp, yelling back, "My brother's down there, I need to save him!" My body instinctually moved backwards as the flames got closer, and I heard the fireman's boots land on the cement. "Sir, Douglas, your brother couldn't be alive. I'm sorry, it's just not possible. But we have to get you out of here!"

I shook my head, watching as the flames licked the fireproof material on my legs. "No, no, I can't! I can't! I have to save Tyler!" I started to walk into the flames when I heard, "I'm sorry, Douglas, but I have to do this!"

I felt his arms wrap around my waist and pull me back, a final explosion blowing us both out of the opening in the cement. "No!" I screamed, struggling against his hold. I elbowed him hard in the gut and stood up as he let go, running into the flaming building. I let the flames consume my body, hugging it, smoke filling up my lungs until I couldn't breathe.

"I'm sorry!" I yelled.

With that, my story ended abruptly.

Jacob's life consisted of running, running, and more running.

He ran to work; he ran down the streets to the bakery he loved; he ran past the boy in the ugly yellow jacket.

Jacob didn't know why he hated that boy so much. His brown, fluffy hair always blew in the wind, but he never attempted to tame it. Jacob thought it looked cute. But it was so annoying how he would just sit and play his ukulele and smile at any passerby.

Everytime Jacob passed him, the strings were red. He thought that maybe the boy bought the strings like that, but eventually, he realized it was the blood coming from cuts on the boy's hands.

"He just sits there all day?" His friend Mark had asked once. Jacob had nodded and replied, "All day! I see him on my way to work and on the way back!" He shook his head. "He always plays this annoying song, too. It's some Elvis one, I think."

The boy in the yellow jacket - or Yellow, as Jacob had begun to call him - was always there; sometimes he even sang. His voice was soft, like a mother lulling her child to sleep. His case always had a few coins and the occasional dollar in it; one time someone even tossed a box of Band-Aids in there.

"Oh, thank you," Yellow had said. Then he kept playing.

Yellow became part of Jacob's routine; on the way to work he would glance at him, and Yellow would wave and smile. It was the same on the way back.

This went on for months; smiles, waves, and Elvis songs played loud enough to cover up his soft voice. And then one morning, he just... wasn't there.

"Have you seen Yel- er, the guy that plays ukulele on the street corner recently?" He asked his friend Mark on one of their Saturday bar nights. Mark had tilted his head, frowning. "No. But I wouldn't be surprised if someone killed him or something; that part of town is awfully dangerous, especially in the evenings."

Jacob tried to forget about it. He really tried; he ran until his lungs burned as much as his legs did; he competed in competitions and won some of them; but still, his thoughts drifted back to that boy and the ugly yellow jacket.

The only thing he managed to forget about was the rent, which he realized he hadn't been paying when an eviction notice was posted on his front door.

The landlord at least let him stay until he found a place, but the cheapest place he could find had one-star reviews on Yelp. So that's why it was so cheap.

After about a week, he had everything moved in to his new 'apartment' - though, really, it was just an old factory with drywall seperating the twelve rooms. But the strangest part were the open doors.

"Everyone's really... friendly here," a girl with blue hair explained when he asked. She waved a goodbye when they got to his apartment, and warned him, "If you don't want people having... fun... on your bed or anywhere in your room, close your door."

Jacob quickly closed and locked the door and started unpacking.

It was late in the evening when he first heard the yelling. Whoops and cheers and glasses clinking, it sounded like a party. He was tempted to join, but dismissed the idea - after all, he was only halfway unpacked. Another hour passed before the piano started playing next door.

It was a beautiful song, possibly self written, or just from an unknown band, but whatever it was made him stop and listen. He walked out to the fire escape him and his neighbor shared and peered inside their window; that's when he spotted the yellow jacket.

Yellow.

The boy noticed him and walked out onto the fire escape. "What do you want?" He asked, a mix between exhaustion and anger in his voice. Jacob was somewhat taken aback by the boy. "I just, really like the song you were playing, so..." he trailed off, glancing up at Yellow. "I'm Jacob," he eventually introduced, holding out his hand.

"I don't do handshakes," he said, then walked back inside, leaving the door open. Jacob stood there for a moment when he heard a yell; "You coming in or not?"

Jacob stepped inside and took in the room. A kitchenette was in the corner, and it looked almost pristine; there was a half-wall seperating it and the black leather couch next to a piano. On the opposite side of the room, a single bed with yellow sheets and pillows sat next to a stand with the ukulele he always saw the boy play.

"Sweet pad," he said, attempting to imitate a street-smart person's way of speaking. Yellow looked at him. "I'm not some homeless person on the streets. I'm more educated than that. Screw you." Then, after a moment, "Want a PopTart?"

It had been two weeks since Jacob first moved in; he learned Yellow's real name was Clayton, and he was nineteen. Five years younger than Jacob. "I'm in college, and I kind of bribed my professors to email me all the notes and then I take the exams when I need to." A pause as he slurped some pasta he had made - and invited Jacob to have - that night. "Those were two or three weeks ago."

Jacob stared at the infomercial that was currently playing on his tiny little television. "Do you run?" Clayton nodded. "Early, really early, in the morning. I think at four." Jacob looked at him. "Can I run with you?" Another nod.

The next morning, Jacob got up at 3:30 in the morning and soon found himself knocking on Clayton's door. "Hold on!" A muffled yell came from inside. After an estimated two minutes, he was there, yellow jacket being switched for a black shirt and basketball shorts. A black cap was pulled low over his brown hair and he pushed past Jacob and started walking down the stairs.

"Hey, Brendon!" He shouted, flashing one of his rare grins. A man with a brown pompadour waved and shouted from the bottom of the stairs, "Hey Clay! You must have Jacob behind you!" Clayton nodded.

Jacob watched the interaction, head popping up when Brendon called his name. "Jacob! Nice to finally meet you man!" As they got closer it was obvious this guy was drunk. His suit jacket was messily thrown over his shoulders and his white button-up was wrinkled.

"Say hello and act like nothing's wrong, got it?" Clayton whispered into his ear. Jacob nodded and forced a grin. "Hey! I was wondering when I'd finally get to meet the boss!" Brendon giggled, eyes twinkling, before turning sharply on his heel. "See you around, man!" He called from his shoulder before walking into a randome person's apartment.

"That's the landlord. He's drunk every night except Saturday. Which is tomorrow, so you'll be able to actually meet him then." Clayton explained, pushing open the squeaky exit door.

"Do you have pepper spray?" Clayton asked after they had started running. Jacob replied with some uncertainty in his voice, "No. Why?" Clayton shrugged before responding, "Sometimes the people can get a little crazy here." The rest of the run was filled wth silence.

As they passed an open alley, Jacob heard a short scream come from behind him. "Clayton?" He asked, eyes glancing around for his friend. "Clayton!" He called down the alleyway. Slowly, he walked down it, before a hand grabbed him and he felt the pinch of a needle in his neck.

"It's okay, Jacob, relax," the person said. He let his eyes slide close.

When Jacob woke up, it was to familiar white walls. "Jacob? How are you feeling?" A nurse, he quickly recognized as Nurse Kennedy, asked. Jacob nodded and smiled before saying, "I'm okay."

"That was a pretty long hallucination you had there. Psychosis must suck, huh?" Her voice turned into a twisted form of Clayton's. "Why didn't you save me, Jacob? Why?" It asked, and he quickly screamed and pushed away from his bed.

"Yes," he replied breathlessly. "Psychosis does suck."