A spray of cold water lands on my face as I stand on the swaying bridge and pull my hood up, letting my hair hang out. I trudge across the rotting wood plank bridge and I step onto the grass, feeling the familiar string attached to my chin pulling my head up to look up at the cold moon, glowing brightly down on me in the smoky sky. I mount my bike and take the trail through the woods farther from my sad, quiet home, hoping to see my lone wolf once more.  Riding under the leafy canopies, hiding from the world, I hazily observe my surroundings, looking, watching, waiting for my midnight wolf. Glimpsing an open meadow, I lean my bike against a gnarled oak tree and slowly walk towards the moonlit meadow. I hear a creek gurgling in the distance,  reminding me of the last time I saw my dad, right before he left and never came

back. A rustle in front of me nudges me out of my trance, and I see her, my dark wolf, standing in the short grass, the chilly wind creating a river-like pattern on its smoky fur. I stare at the creature, jealous of its ability to be so beautiful, so free. “CRCKKK!” I jump at the sound, my head spinning around, as if on a ball. I frown, startled, and squint into the darkness, shifting my weight from one leg to the other, listening to the crickets chirp, trying to see somebody or something, running or hiding. Feeling the rest of my motivation drain out of me I give up and, turn around to find that my wolf had disappeared, just as startled by the sudden noise as I was. Wheeling my bike around the tree towards the meadow where the beautiful she-wolf had stood, feeling the loneliness of her sudden departure.

I look up into the open sky, staring up at the moon as the memories flooded me again. This night was the same as that night was, the last night I saw my best friend, my dad. Falling back on the grass, I listen to the soft inviting whispers of the stream. My brain screamed at me from the inside as I took in the stars, wanting to just fly away with the wind and never fall back on the ground. I was so tired. So tired of secrets. So tired of lies. So tired of fake smiles, fake friends, fake lives. So tired of pretending, so tired of trying.I reached my hand up to the sky and stare at the hazy black outline, feeling cold tears run down my face. Who created the action of wishing on a falling star? Isn't that star dead? Why would you wish on a dying star? Wouldn't your dream just die with it? Such a simple tradition that

has never been thought about logically. And an example of a tradition was surviving. If you are meant to die anyway why bother trying to survive why we're trying? There is no point to it.  The human race was meant to die anyway. Really all we do is try to survive just because we don't know, we don't know what happens after. We are afraid. My tears slowed to a stop and I felt empty.  I felt like a vase, nobody bothered to fill with roses, I dully stood up, walking to the stream, feeling the cold sharp rocks pierce my bare feet. I walked into the lake feeling the water clamp its cold paws on my torn clothes. As I walked in further, the water covering my chest, I said goodbye to the moon, to the lonely stars, to the drama, to the problems, I say goodbye to the world. I took one more step, falling into the lake,