Winter.

It was like a nightmare. Everything was clouded as I walk through the hall. Down to room 26B. The last room in the suicide ward at the hospital. Can you believe they actually have a fucking ward for that? Could you believe that all the other rooms were full.

I never realized until now, just how many people can hurt so much that they're driven to take their life. Just how many people are called names, or teased, or are lonely, depressed, sad, dead inside. It's not right.

That moment, I decided I was no longer a douche bag. I would no longer tease anyone at school. I would no longer be 'friends' with the people who do such things either.

I open the door to the room and see Winter laying in the bed. Bandages up his arms, tubes down his throat. Such a sorry sight for someone so young. It's hard to imagine that only a few hours ago, Winter had been laying in my arms, barely alive. Not much difference, except now he's in a hospital.

I pull a chair up to his bed to sit. I watch. Hours and hours, I watch. I wait. I want him to open those dark green eyes. I want him to live.

See, after I left the school, I had laid in bed for hours, just thinking. I thought of how the almost suicide of a boy I hardly knew had had such an impact on my life.

From the moment I saw him laying on the floor, I felt different. I felt like life was to fragile to make someone feel bad. Life was to fragile to not look past differences. Life is to important to not take someones hand, someone who's hurting, and pull them up out of the darkness.

I had helped put Winter into the darkness, and now I was ready to pull him out of it. I don't want anyone to have to live like that. I don't want anyone to be able to sit in their room and cry, and harm themselves, and not eat, and not sleep.

No one should have to sit in their room and think of all the names they were called that day, sinking further into depression, and decide they are to take their own life. That isn't what living is about.

Living is breathing in the smell of fresh coffee in the morning. Living is planting a rose bush, waiting for it to bloom, only to come to the surprise when it does, that, for some strange reason, it smells like lemon pledge. Living is smiling and laughing and loving and surprises and happiness.

Living is not what Winter is doing right now. And if I have any say in what goes on, Winter will be living very soon.

"Winter, I'm going to make you all better." I whisper, and take his hand. Slowly, his dull, sad, eyes open.