It'd been a year. Nothing too special. He did what he had to to get by, to feel alive. He experimented with a little of everything, and felt a lot of nothing through it all. Maybe a pang of nostalgia, maybe a thought of what it felt to be happy, some nausea, but mostly a lot of nothing. It'd been 365 days. Just another year of dragging along. But it'd been three years since the incident. The accident; something he wishes he could have controlled, but was mentally unaware, physically unprepared. Everything that happened during that time was a blur in his mind, and he never understood why he couldn't remember much of anything. Whatever happened then was dead and gone, nothing to worry about, yet he worried.

He couldn't say his life was terrible, because it wasn't. He was getting an education at a nearby college, had a job, and even a studio apartment. He was finally on his own, completely independent; he didn't need anyone to take care of him, for the most part. Of course, if he were low on cash, he'd make his rounds like he had the year before, doing what he could to please others for a bit of help.

Halloween came, made up of oily sweets and a pop punk looking outfit, accented with a red bowtie. He tucked his frayed hair into a beanie, riddled his face in fake gashes, and gave out goodies to the wandering children. After the trick or treating was over, he went back to his apartment, and called up a decent friend who he knew would share a few blunts. He deserved it right? He's worked his ass off for himself. Maybe this time he would feel happy?