Right now, I'm sitting on a bed, looking out the window.

It's not even my bed, it's my friend's. Well, if I were to be frank, I don't really know what exactly she is to me, but I do know that I like watching movies with her.

When I look out this window, I see the brick wall of a neighbor's house. It's not really much of a view, but this wall, house, and a person inside it hold a certain significance to me. To its right lies a backyard, a place where the inhabitants of the house rarely walk upon. Craning my neck a bit more lets me see the woods that lie on the outskirts of it. Prolonged apprehension has held me back from ever venturing into them.

When I look to the opposite side, I see other houses, all uniform in shape and size. The hum of daily life sets in, and I begin to realize that this hum is constantly being interrupted for me, and I don't like it. Peering out further, I begin to see an outline of my house. Waves of emotions set in, ranging from comfort, warmth, and happiness; to solidity, frustration, dejection, and heartache. For some reason, only the darker ones resonate. I pause for a moment to look at the ground and recollect my thoughts, and proceed to look outside.

I see the road, and upon it, cars racing past. I think back to the fact that I still haven't gotten my permit and make a mental note to get it, but me and my thoughts both know that this note will go ignored. Now, the sun begins to set and children start to come out and play. I see babies walking with their parents, waddling along like ducklings, and other kids zooming past them on bicycles. A small number of them huddle in a circle, conversing about the vibrant nature of their consistently fervent lives. I think back to myself at that age, and long for the scraped knees, wind in my ears while running, and constant laughter.

My friend momentarily glances at me from her slouched post on her bed to my indifferent upright position. She takes in the rigidity of my crossed hands, and my glazed over eyes which the sun reflects off of. She opens her mouth to say something, but seemingly decides that her commentary is not needed. Thus, she returns to scanning her laptop.

My gaze shifts for a second to her, but we make no other motions.

My attention focuses upon the grass. The vibrant, green summer grass that gave me bug bites is now slowly turning yellow. However, the leaves on trees are still intact. My mind flashes to a moment when I was sitting outside for lunch and a single leaf fell on me. It was red. I brushed it off and continued eating.

My phone buzzes with a text, but I don't reach for it because it isn't a text from who I want it to be.

At this point, the sky is changing colors. Various pinks, purples, and golds paint it, and my eyes strain to find any traces of blue in it. The clouds seem to have disappeared, and though I can't see the sun anymore, I know it's still there. Children start going back to their houses as their parents usher them in.

Pinks change to violets; violets change to blues; and blues change to blacks.

I sit down on the ground because my legs are hurting from standing up. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the lack of light, and my neck struggles to crane upward towards the window. My back attempts to straighten itself in order to alleviate the discomfort, but promptly slouches.

The streetlights turn on, and my eyes immediately shift to them. In a few moments, the road is dimly lit. No one is outside anymore. The road almost looks like a black pool, and I'm tempted to go outside and dive into it. No colors distinguish objects from each other anymore, and everything is painted in a sheen of black. For some reason, the uniformity entices me.

My eyes find the moon, and I stand up to see its full halo. It almost seems as if the only part of me that is moving now is my eyes. I can't register its reflection off my eyes.

Touching it, a single pinprick glows.