[WP] You're the main character, and you die at the end of this story. You try to create new plotlines and events to follow, but you're running out of ideas and are starting to get desperate.

On August 1st, I kill myself. That's the way it's planned, the way it's written. Freedom never finds me, so I find it in death. A year ago, I was satisfied with this plan. Wouldn't call it happy. But it felt close enough for certainty and far enough for time, something I could look forward to at the end. An end. A light to walk toward at the end of the tunnel.

It has been August 1st for three weeks now. Sometimes I die. Sometimes I run away. Sometimes I lie in bed all day. Every time I wake up, it's still Saturday, August 1st, the day I'm written out to die. My author, it seems, can't decide.

Perhaps they, too, have tired of this plan. But I do not get a resolution. When I live, I do not declare myself better. I sleep. I wake. I live tomorrow as today. Nothing seems to really change. That is no end.

Maybe I don't want there to be an end.