I remember the day that we first met each other. It was the best day of my life. He was tall, had long dark hair that framed his face then. The sunset brought out the bright yet deep color of his face, and in his eyes was the joy. He is gone now, and I am still here.

Then, words were not easy to come by. Words came as a little pill, and it cost almost as much as buying a brand new car. And we were broke and hungry. I think we were hungry for the words more than anything. People would kill each other on the street if they'd heard any utterance of a word, or what they thought were words. And then they would gut the victim, pull the indigestible pill from their festering stomachs and swallow it greedily, all for the cycle to happen again. And books served no other purpose than fuel for the fire. And that's when I met him. He would walk around shirtless, the scar exposed on his belly. Somehow he survived an attack.

That night, he'd come to my door with flowers in hand. They were half-wilted and few in number, but that was just about as good as anyone would ever get in this city. A little tear slipped freely from my eye then, and a smile appeared on his face. I think he understood my language. I think he wanted me to come with him then. He held his hand up to his mouth, and I think that meant something about speaking. Maybe he knew the answer. But I said no. I was too afraid to leave my little dwelling. The fireplace burned earnestly and I wish I had let it then, let it burn the whole world to ash. I wish I had come with him then, but I was so offended that he had laughed at my tears. And I slammed the door.

The next morning, I found he left the flowers there. He had a gun. He left his body there. I dragged it inside. There was one more bullet. I thought about it, looking at the fireplace. Then I realized what he'd intended to do. Tears streamed down my face as I fumbled through my kitchen for a sharp enough knife. A permanent smile was frozen eternally on his rotting face, his eyes glazed over and staring straight through me when I reached into him. Greedily, I swallowed the pill from him. I went through his pockets, found some more bullets and eighteen dollars. I shoved it all into a bag, gave him the flowers to hold, and ran out of the city. And I never looked back.