Dystopia

     Everyone has that one pleasant memory, something that promises escape and freedom. In the life I lived, my only positive memory was a blade piercing into my heart. That cold, slim steel pushed passed my skin and severed my heart in two. Its beating continued for a few more seconds, then ebbed to a stop. I was dead, and I had finally escaped my worst nightmare.

     I grew up in a run down town, with decrepit buildings everywhere. Going day to day, not knowing where the next scrap of food wound come from. It was hell, and the only thing I ever knew. Until death brought me peace. I got away from hunger, from sadness and pain and hatred. All that was left, was me. 

     In the end, my Utopia was made with my last breath.