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        If I told you, you probably wouldn't believe me, so I won't. Tell you, I mean.

        There isn't time for 'Dear ____'s or 'Sincerely ____'s, especially when they're five feet away. They'd kill me if they knew I was writing this. Especially him. They'd kick me out, and I'd be as good as dead. But when it all comes down to it, I guess I owe them that much, anyway. After they taught me how to live and everything, I pretty much owe them my life.

        It's funny, though, the way things work. If I was telling this the way I wanted to tell it, I'd say none of it happened for a reason. Nothing ever does. Fate doesn't exist.

        It didn't exist when I saw it happen and that made them see me. It didn't exist when everything changed. It didn't even exist when you walked down the street and found this lying on the sidewalk. If I had it my way, I'd say it's chance. It's all goddamn chance. 

        And now you're reading this, wondering who the hell this is to. The answer to that is absolutely nobody. And your second question is probably who the hell am I? But like I said before, I'm not going to tell you that. I'm not going to tell you how my senior year went down. I can't. I won't.

        But August will.

        August Omeria. I don't know who she is, but you're about to know her really well. And I mean really. She's forgetful and might mess up a few parts, but hey, she's fucking trying. She'll get the job done.

        (I don't know what I'll do if she doesn't.)

        So I guess I'll let her take the reigns from here on out. Let her tell you what happened.

        Let her tell you how I died.

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