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On this page I will begin a novel, and add a paragraph every once in a while.

If you are reading this, than I envy you. You are able to read this. Not live it. You will never be forced to endure what I have suffered, though I can't deny that I deserved it. If you are lucky. It will be excruciatingly painful to record this terrible tale. But I must. You will read this thinking that it is a storybook, written to amuse those who enter the covers that protect, not only what is written inside, but also the people outside from the knowledge that would be bestowed upon them if they had petruded farther than the front cover. I will write my story, but I ask you to forget everything I tell you in my writing. Seeing as I cannot stall any longer, I shall begin.

My life began as ordinarily as anyone else. On the 13 of March, I came into being. 1779. Hardly less than three centuries ago. You ask how I live now. That is not the question though. The question is, "Am I really living?" True, I write. I see. They can't see me. And they don't know I see them. My death was predicted hundreds of years ago, when I was 15 and very ill. But I lived. At the worst of my fever, when I feared most for my life, I nearly died. But I overcomed it. I was spared. I never knew how the miracal happened. Perhaps it was my parents praying constantly to the gods. Or the fruitless attempts the healer made for my life. However it happened, I lived. I should of thanked the great gods, and went on with my life. But I didn't. I was vain. Before my sickness, I had been reasonably hard working and a good son to my parents. After I recovered, I sought the attention and worry that near death had brought. I was an arogant fool who didn't apreciate it when I was given a second chance. I will never forgive myself for the damage I caused. I am forced to stay on this earth and watch my decendants die, always wishing I could save them. It is a torture unmatched in the most fiery depths of hell. I feel remorce now, as I wander the places I once lived in without a care. Anyone would, put to the punishment that I am forced to endure forever more. But it is unwise to linger in the past or the future. Always focus on the present.

I was walking down a deserted alley way. The darkness was impenetrable to the naked eye, but I did not need to see. I heard a noise. A stifled sniffling as if from a child. Suddenly, a boy's voice cried out, "Who's there!?" I froze. Apparently there was a child in here, and possibly another person unknown. "I know you're there!" he shouted. A light flickered on in a nearby building, piercing the darkness like a sword. I scaned the alley, searching, not for the boy that the voice belonged to, but the person who he was shouting to. I located the boy at once though. He was tall, with black hair and grey eyes, but he looked sick and his expression was one of someone much older than he. He was the only one in the dank, dark side street, save for me though he couldn't know that. He couldn't know that I was here, I have never met anyone who could see me before. "You!" He called, "Who are you?" I stared at him, observing him carefully before answering, "Are you speaking to me?" He stared back like I was an idiot, then said, "Well, there ain't no one else in here." I could not believe it. "Can you see me?" "Course I can. Why wouldn't I not?" "That's a double negative." "Do you really think I care? Just answer the question." "I died in 1806." "Then why are you here?"I was surprised at how calm he sounded. How often do you meet a dead man? Then I realized. "You don't believe me, do you?" "Not in the slightest. Go on." "This is my punishment for my vanity in life. I roam the places I once called home, watching those whom I love die, unable to save them. It is cruel, but I deserve it." "Sure. Whatever." "I'm not mad." "You could have fooled me." "Please, believe me. No one has ever been able to see me." "I should probably go. You're kind of freaking me out." "No-!" but he was gone.