My hand glides against the blue sticky note on the wall. It stares at me, questioning my choices. The chance of going to jail rises as I add more sticky notes to the wall. All I see are choices and different ways.

The more I add, the more I question my sanity. Why hasn't anyone stopped me yet? I finally dropped the notes and leaned back to view what was on the wall. My hands trembled inside my pockets, begging me to stop.

I can't let anyone know. Not now, not ever. I pace myself to leave my room and hurry downstairs for a snack. Food should distract the mind. At least I hope it does.

My apartment is as silent as a graveyard. No one is alive to make a sound. I itch to grab the salted chips on the counter, but I grab the cucumbers instead. It's a safer option. It feels tedious on my tongue. Even my lips tremble from the words on my wall.

It takes too long to finish my food. I pushed the chair back and steadily made my way up the stairs. My door seems to be staring death in my face, too. Everything has looked hysterical since I put the sticky notes on my wall. I shouldn't be a writer. Am I even a writer?

My hand quivers on the doorknob, embracing myself to the horror of my room. Everything I worked for could disappear in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, I force myself to open the door with my eyes squeezed shut.

I lazily opened my eyes to the fright of my room. My heart falls to my feet. I turn to the wall. All the notes are gone, missing, and disappeared. And, Michela disappeared too.