Boston. Massachusetts. Darsy's Apartment.
I never thought it would happen to me. You live a normal human life for 19 years, and then one fine autumn day you wake up a person with suicidal consciousness.
It took me one night to accept the inevitable, and now I clearly understood the end of my story without regret. I still had people who would be hurt by my loss, who would notice my absence. They would cry at the funeral, provided there is something to be put in a coffin. If not, then most likely the Guardians or Erasers would make it look like I just disappeared, which was a normal thing for the United States of America. But the worst thing was to be completely erased from the history as if these nineteen years never happened. The universe would not mourn this loss, and no one would even
