She backed herself against the wall, feeling the warmth of the sun still absorbed in its tons of bricks, running her fingertips over the rough edges, guiding them along the grey concrete cracks that held them together, and slightly scraping her nails along the grain. Looking down at the eight stories below, she caught her breath, her legs shaking and shivering, despite the warmth radiating from the mass behind her. The six inches she had before her, the six inches that were separating her from the edge, seemed to get shorter as time went by, the longer she stared down at the cars and people below her. Her thoughts were on nothing but clinging to the wall, not of letting go. Her intentions, at least once she stepped out of the window, were clear, but her reasons were not. No one stopped to take in what her original intentions were: she was just another statistic, another teen trapped in her body, screaming, crying, for the help or the time no one could give her. Looking up, but never swaying from the wall, she cried out to Heaven and all its angels, to Jesus, to God, if he existed, to save her from the darkness in which consumed her. Tears rolled down her cheeks, imagining the fiery flames of hell wrapping around her body, tearing at her flesh, sending shadows and evil in the form of smoke up her nostrils and into her lungs, consuming her body. The light of Jesus Christ, her savior, was no longer there. From here she called upon Satan, upon all evil, to make a deal.

The scorch marks He left on her heart were unforgettable. It was her lust for revenge that sent her heart and mind reeling into a catastrophic haze that made her stand on the ledge that day. Her pact with Satan did not save her, and in whatever direction her soul went, weather it be to hell or back to earth, one thing was certain: the religious bonds in which she had tangled herself in by the age of five, were released. Jesus, God, and all the angels, were suddenly denied upon impact. With her face against the concrete she realized in the two point seven five seconds she was falling, she had not left the darkness inside of her. The two point seven five seconds of peace she yearned for as she took the step off the ledge failed her. It wasn't worth it. A final tear rolled down her cheek, one eye raised to the Heavens, a sorry slipped out of her mouth, and finally, her vision blurred, and went black. This was her finale.

The darkness didn't leave her, even after death. No one bothered to show up to her funeral. No one kissed her coffin into the ground. No one left roses in front of her tombstone. As her soul lay unrest, it was apparent that not only her body lay in pieces.

As the blood stains washed away in the rain, so did all memories of what occurred on that street. Looking back, it seems as if nothing or no one seemed out of place. No one thrived or mourned for her death, or even so much as pointed a finger to the spray painted "X" in which marked the very spot where her head cracked into the pavement. God himself sent this punishment to her, a punishment so cruel to her heart, so mean to any human's mind, that being engulfed in the flames of hell were equal to this. His punishment was one of being forgotten, one of a dead-end legacy. Satan, in fear of her soul resting upon his hands left her in the box that contained her body, the shadows and darkness filling in the growing empty space as her body decayed. The ground above her, kissed with winters frost, easily accented the gloom entombed in her box below, not letting what little grass there was to penetrate its soft white surface.

Seventeen cold, hard, and unwelcomed winters lay a white blanket over the town, allowing no one to truly remember what evil once lay below its old forgotten cemetery. With the town's slow acceleration into the new millennium, old faces died off, each body being laid in the next town over, and new faces came. Of these new faces, it became known once more to God himself that a new evil (evil?) had been born.

Walking with his hands in his pockets, Abel looked up to the sky, allowing the dull blue emptiness to cover his vision fully, letting him concentrate on nothing but the small white speck crossing the midday sky, leaving its fluffy white line trailing behind it. The chill in the day battled the warmth of the sun, showing the end of fall, bringing forth one more cold winter. The tombstone that lay below him read "Unknown, God Protect and Guide her Soul". The words sent a feeling of secrecy through his veins, he felt a certain power over the persons grave he was standing on. He imagined this unknown person looking up, calling out their name, laying unrest, screaming for help, screaming for help from the hell they got themselves into. Laughing at the thought of flames raising from the ground, grabbing at his shoes, beckoning for him to repay his sins with his soul, clawing at his skin. Hell was nothing to him. He feared nothing, but striking fear into all that crossed him. His dark eyes stabbed at the ground before him, the old cemetery to have not been disturbed until now. The sun faded in and out between clouds as he skimmed over the tombstones, memorizing each name, each family, each angle. Kicking over the rotting tombstone in which he had just been standing at, he continued on through the dead-lands, ignoring the flowers he stepped on, or the tombstones that fell over as he kicked at them for fun. He didn't care.