The breadcrumbs I left on the floor

The heavy and urgent knock on the door

The beauty of the vast abandoned moor

The blood on my knife fell and smeared the floor

Life never promised us a smooth journey forever.

No, it didn't.

There's no contract signed by you and Life, it can do whatever it wants.

Depression drowns and kills.

No doubt.

Yet, Depression gives you the sweetest and painless death.

What can be more comfortable other than dying at your own will?

You avenged yourself, in a way.

By commiting suicide, you told life by shouting at the top of your lungs, "YOU CAN'T FIRE ME!! I QUIT!!!"

Am not promoting suicides here.

When I locked myself in my room, cast my glances on the beautiful moor that was abandoned decades before I was borned, ate my last supper.

And finally, slit my wrist.

Crimson liquid flow like a river rushing to the sea.

Instead of pain, I felt freedom.

Yes, I'm breaking free of this flesh shell.

Ignoring the knocks on the door, which seemed so far away. I'm too lazy to bother it.

Slowly, my eyes grew heavier and drowsiness overcame me.

Alas, I fell into a deep sleep.

I don't think I'll wake up to face the sun anymore.

The new me rose, as the Dark Angel, guardian of this Dark Forest; watcher of the Red Moon.