Behind that thin veneer of smiles and laughter, is a horribly cracked interior. Mixed with sadness, grief, confusion, madness and hopelessness, perfect ingredients for a suicide. It's so messed up. You just don't know where to start. And people take advantage of your fall, your weakness and step all over you, kick you till you cringe in a corner, then drag you in front of the shooting squad, rid your body with bullets and leave you slumped, lying in a pool of blood. You're broken inside, tortured when you didn't deserve to be, accused of something you didn't do. And so it crumbles, mind, body and soul. Every damn thing. People stand around and watch you suffer, slowly die in front of their very eyes. But they still stand, doing nothing. Until an angel appears, pick you up and carry you upon her shoulders. You breathe. Again. You open your eyes and no, it isn't the blood that you see, but the heavens, the light, the clouds above. And you live again. But still scarred from the bullets that mutilated you. How does that feel? Terrible? Yii Wen, thank you so much for being the angel. The caring, beautiful angel. Always. I love you, girl. I always have. For the others, thanks for being the shooting squad, thanks for standing around. I really didn't appreciate it. I mean it this time.