Dying is like riding a bike. Once you learn to do it, you never quite forget. It's a memory that never leaves your mind, not really.

A bullet can leave a wound and a wound can leave a scar, but death can leave a memory so vivid that no one ever forgets- not even the people who never saw it coming.

If I was alone with a coil of rope, I'd string my doll up, just to see the lifeless plastic float back and forth, see the broken eyes open and shut, like a switch that can't be turned on or off. I would hold the rope in my hand, run my fingers over the coarse, harsh material. I would feel the lives that the braided string had taken and will take.

I would close my eyes and let myself be carried away by the souls of the dead.

I have seen the young stars and touched the ancient moon, but when I looked down in the shimmering water's reflection, I did not see myself, but a worn creature of devastation and despair. The depths of the lake were so alluring; the way the light glinted off the surface, and the unknown mysteries of what lay beneath the waters.

The blue and green and gray were like shards of broken glass. It captivated me, beckoned me. And I obeyed.

But for now, I am a child, and so the lake will be enough. The rope around the doll’s neck will be enough. I will be enough.