Part of him knew that this was inevitable. He always did the things that he wasn't supposed to. And frankly, he was used to being left - to being forgotten about, like he didn't matter, or exist. But he had never felt so betrayed, so alone, so -                                                                                   - afraid.

As he sat alone, chained to the chair, blood seeping out of him staining his shirt, pooling around his feet, he knew why he wanted it to end so badly - because he truly had no one, his family thought him dead, and those that knew he wasn't - - had tried to kill him, for the things that he had taken and hidden from heaven.                                                                           He had watched life on Earth for so long before his family had fallen apart - and he had always wondered why so many people complained about it - he admired it, far more than he did now.

Sometimes he thought this was a way of life telling him that he wasn't meant to be here, that he had done all that he was needed for and he wasn't supposed to be there anymore, like it was time to leave, because no one needed him and no one ever asked him for help, or love or didn't even want to be around him.                                                                              "Maybe its time..." he said slowly to himself. Trying assure himself of it. Trying to make sense of it. 

                                                                     But he couldn't