Stinging wind cuts across my legs as they burn with exhaustion; regardless I continue forward. Wizened oaks line the sides of the road, majestically towering above me, all more real then if I was passing by in a car. With crunching footsteps the little stones that scatter the black pavement are displaced, some falling into the cracks and others off the side of the road.

For now this forest road is barren of other humans; however is full of noise despite being autum. Birds chittering sadly as they leave their homes for the winter. Squirrels and chipmunks scatter in light of my approach. And above all else was the constant whispering of the bony trees in the wind.

My house and the center of the town was still a couple of kilometers ahead of me; it is not a populace place by any means, with most homes thinly spread around a large lake. Every few days I would walk, jog or run around the relatively oblong lake. I guess it is simply part of the routine I am stuck in.

I recently turned 19 and have completed school- yet I still haven’t exited the shelter of my families home, much to the disappointment of my father. It’s not that I was a delinquent; actually if you asked any teacher or parent in my school they would undoubtedly call me intelligent at minimum. I was also relatively fit, though I am neutral on my looks.

For my whole life I have been labeled as ‘intelligent’. My parents heralded me as the next einstein; my teachers claimed I could do whatever I wanted to, which wasn’t far from the truth if I put effort into it. Everywhere I go people have high expectations of me-

-and I hate it. It’s annoying. Grating. I have long since become numbed to it, yet it still manages to pull every hair on my body by the stems. Constantly people expect high things from me; things so far beyond what is expected of others I stop getting noticed for doing things better than them.

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‘It’s expected’. What crap- I don’t care if it is expected. I am more prideful than I care to admit- and seeing others getting praised for doing less than half of what I do makes me sick to my stomach.

Yet they still expect me to be able to do better with no incentive. I am not attracted by money or fame- I have a job simply because I have nothing better to do and money keeps piling in my bank account. I don’t want to have a fanclub, I just want to be accepted for being able to do what other’s can’t- yet no matter how well I do it is still ‘within expectations’, not needing praise. And years of having this happen to me has numbed my motivation.

I lack drive; what is the point of doing something if no one notices you for it? No matter what argument I make I cannot shake the overbearing fog of pointlessness. My only interests were novels and games because they allowed me to escape and become something I’m not. Something that actually meant something when I did better than others.

Haa… Absently I watched the cloudy sky. I wonder what would happen if I started over?

*SCREEEEEEEEEEEECH

Glancing in mild surprise at the tilting car, the drunken teenager in the front seat, and the bright headlights dead set on crushing me, I could only let out a sigh before it slammed into my body.

Blinding white pain arked through me as every bone in my chest was shattered, ribs puncturing my lungs and heart.

In the next instant I was crushed fully against a tree, my skull shattering and ending my life.