I wanted to pound a bullet into the head of every panda that wouldn't screw to save it's species. I wanted to open the dump valves on all the oil tankers and coat all those french beaches I would never see... I wanted to breathe smoke.

I am Jack's wasted life.

A sliver of light crept over my face through the curtains of my smokey apartment. One of my roommate's cigarettes stood lit in its ashtray. He must have just gone to bed. My eyes focused on what was under my head. It was my journal, and I realized my pen was still in hand. I sat up from the floor and looked at it, the blue ink running in crazy patterns from the night before. Like a morbid dream the haze of my mind began to clear. Writing in that journal, tears streaming down my face, patting onto the paper one by one. Wanting nothing more than a visit from death himself.

I looked around the room, seeing the dust and dirt floating around higlighted by that sliver of light. The particles flew up my nostrils with each breath I took. I could almost taste the stench of cat urine and body odor that permeated this place. How long had I been here? I couldn't think of the day. Hell, I couldn't remember if it was July or August. A memory flashed into my head, a memory of sitting on the roof of my Hollywood apartment. My legs dangled over the edge and I wondered if I should just...

Like the guy before her. My stomach hurt. My emotions were tainting my physical health. Like a black ball of hate and loathing, I could feel it inside me, growing. I stood up and brought the cigarette from the ashtray to my lips. Inhale. Exhale. I stood there staring at what was on the desk before me.

It was the book that my friend Adam had gotten for me. "Days of War, Nights of Love". It felt like someone had looked into my soul and wrote it down in that book. Every thought, and feeling I had about the world was somehow mirrored in there, plus a few I hadn't been aware of. Until now. It was half the reason I was in tears all the time. My eyes were opened, and I realized everything around me was worthless.

Another memory came to me as my fingers ran around the image of the clouds and mountains on the cover. A memory from years ago, when I felt free and had no worries. A memory of everyday being an adventure. Hitchhiking through Oregon. Trainhopping through California. I wondered why I had ever stopped.

Picking up the book, I knew staying here would destroy me. Fear was what had kept me here so long. Fear of losing everything. Fear of the unknown. Fear of leaving the comfort zone I had built for myself here in this shithole. But now, now it was all worthless. It had no meaning. I was no longer afraid.

I placed the book in my green army pack. I picked up a few other clothes and stuffed them in as well. I laced my shoes, slung my pack on, and walked out the door. I never looked back. My roommate never heard from me again.