I've always hated planes, I mean, flying in the sky was never made for humans, otherwise we would of been born with wings.
I always said that.
I always told people planes would kill them.
They never listened.
They never even stopped to think about the danger.
I have no one.
It was august xxxx, they all went on a trip. They asked if I want to come with them, but I said no when I found out they where going on a plane.
Sometimes I wish I said yes.
Wish I said I'll go.
Then I won't be so alone.
I tried my hardest to convince them not to go.
I tried so hard.
But they wouldn't listen.
After that, I failed school, got fired from my part time job,
And when I tried to make new friends they thought i was a weirdo.
They thought that I should have died instead of everyone else.
Maybe they where right.
And as my last words to you and the world,
I have no point in living anymore.