The first words Alex ever said to me were “God ******, you ******* *******!”

See, I had just come to the realization that I was, in fact, worthless. No matter what I did with my life, I would not matter, so it only made sense that I **** myself.

That’s how I ended up on the roof of the tallest building I could find, drunk off of cheap ***** and high on *******, thinking that I could fly. But before I could even put my leg out, someone yanked me back, yelling “God ******, you ******* *******!”

He grabbed me by the neck and led me down and out of the building. He sat me on the curb and looked at me. He was 6’4, probably in his mid twenties with a beard and tattoos completely covering his arms and he said “What the **** were you thinking?”

Back then, I was just a punk kid who thought everyone over the age of nineteen was a ****, so I asked him “Why do **** do you care?” He glared and said “Don’t question it, I just do.”

I told him about my father being a cheating *******, how my mom and I didn't get along, and how I have never, in all my life, felt like I fit in anywhere. I explained to him that I was worthless, he should of just let me jump.

He told me to get up and follow him. I, being made entirely of bad decisions stitched together with recklessness, decided to follow him.

We were in the bad side of town, the streets were laced with drugs and bathed in the blood of untimely death. It’s the kind of place parents told you never to go but was filled with kids from broken homes. He led me to a house where music was playing so loud, the Earth shook and as we entered, I feared that my ears would start to bleed.

It was a party full of people with tattoos and piercings, crazy hair on every head and a drink in every hand. He led me to where a groups of kids were sitting, two girls and three boys. He said:

“This is Jimmy, his parents are divorced. Amy’s dad is an alcoholic. Mary’s big brother killed himself. Jack gets made fun of at school, and Neil is a ******. Literally. Make yourself at home.”

And I did.

See, Alex was like our savior. He told us that as long as we had lungs, we could sing. As long as we had hands, we could break things. As long as our hearts were beating, we were to fight for our lives. He told us that we weren't worthless.

One time, at a concert, some pervert tried to grab my ***. I spun around to punch him, but Alex beat me to it.

Another time, we were at a party, and this chick and I started talking **** to each other. There was no good reason for it, I guess we were both just feeling rowdy. She said something I felt went to far, so I reared back and was about to throw the first punch. Someone grabbed me and put me in a choke hold.

It was Alex

He said: “Kid, what the **** are you doing? You don’t know who these people are, and if they light you up, I ain't setting you out.”

An out of townee Alex had had tift with a few years back went up to him and stabbed him underneath his rib cage. Blood was gushing out of his mouth.

That night, I patched up the holes in my jeans. I went home, said sorry to my mom and dad, and locked myself in my room.

Finally, after three days, I climbed out my window and ran. I ended up on the roof of the same building Alex had pulled me down from. I ended up getting drunk off cheap ***** and high on *******. I felt like I could fly.

Jimmy, Amy, Mary, Jack, Neil and I used to be a family. Now, we only call each other every month or so to make sure we're all ok.

Alex is dead. Sometimes, though, on the nights I feel like I can fly, I can hear him say "Don't be stupid, kid. Keep going."