Jason

Only after death really sunk in to my mind is when everything actually started to fall in place. A few shades of gray started collecting memories; although in no way am I saying I'm sure of anything anymore, just had some idea of what might have been real.

Much to my dismay, Jason and all of our time together was learning more in the darker gray side. In case you haven't figured out by now, the white in the division of my mind is what actually happened in my life. More than anything, I wanted to get lost in Jason's touch and listen to him tell me he loves me, but I don't understand. If Jason's not real, then why am I dead?

---<3---
Jason's Perspective

It's just another guiltless murder. The others all fought for their lives, but not him. He cared about me to the point where he confessed his lust toward me. When I killed him, he let me hurt him. No matter how much I want to, I can't say I didn't like him. He was beautiful.

I rest my head against the the cool brick wall I'm leaning up against in back of some run down town house. The rough yarn of my knitted hoodie rubs against the flesh of my arms uncomfortably. This is what being dead is like. No one can see me unless they're my victim. I sleep in dirty back streets wishing I could finally just die for good.

When I was murdered, I was 19 years old. I would have been 20 in four days, but that's not how it happened. Now, I still feel like I'm alive, but I'm not.

Innocent people are drawn in to me with lusted hope. I've had my glee in taking their lives. That boy; he was the only one I let know me more than just a name. Kill me again for saying it, but I didn't mind wasting my time with him.