I glance behind my shoulder, and that's when I see it. Stampeding forward, chasing me; it's the one and only parade of my regrets. My head whips back around to the sunrise in front of me as I begin to dash further away from the taunting mob. All the figures say no words. They hold no weapons and have no armour. They charge forward, their stomping feet creating mini earthquakes. Their presence alone is the thing that destroys me.
Every step I take gets harder and heavier, as if I am slowly reaching a forcefield. The crumbly black pavement disappears beneath my feet, as I fall on my arm, twisting it under my stomach. I lay helplessly, eyeing my regrets as they near closer and closer. I lay on my back and  rest my eyelids, and they fall over my eyes, covering them like a soft heated blanket. This is it. All of the years that I spent preparing for this moment have all been erased, and all I can think about is the future, where I will face my past. I open my eyes again and watch my breath dance through the cold morning air, like the ghosts of my previous actions. I try to grab the ghosts and crush them, forever erasing them from my memory. But the ghosts run and hide, it's too late to try to get rid of them now. I rotate myself onto my stomach and stare my first regret straight in the eyes. That is, if it had any. I’m just a teenage girl, with many mistakes and lessons to learn. There are many people who have hurt me and people who I’ve hurt. There are things that eat me up inside because I wish I could change them. I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. The parade of regrets could trample me and torture me with their taunting powers. But they don’t. They all halt before me and fall silent. So silent, in fact, that I can hear the sound of the sun coming out between the clouds.
“Why aren’t you killing me?” I bluntly ask the figures, after a long silence. “Here I am, come and get me.” The figures remain frozen, their souls concreted to the road. Each figure brings back another painful memory. Another thing my heart longs to change. I recognize each one of them, and can identify every one, even though they appear as blobs of nothingness. I push myself off the rubble, wiping the dirt off my pants and try to get the tiny pebbles out of the newly pressed indents in my hand. I hesitate, then speak to the mob once again. “ Okay, here I go. I'm walking away. Far, far away…” I am cut off by the harsh tones of one of my memories.
“ Stop.” A figure steps forward. “ We’re not going to kill you. We’ll try not to physically hurt you. But no matter what you do or where you go until you take your last breath, we'll always follow you." Tears begin to coat my eyes but I don’t dare let a single drop touch my skin. I refuse to show any emotion to anyone or anything. I can’t let them see how weak I am. Even if they already know.
I reverse my body so my slumped back is facing the parade, as I slowly begin to walk forward. I take it step by step. It’s a misty morning. The sun is slowly peeking out from the clouds, but the rest of the sky is painted grey with watercolor pencils. The streets are glazed with a light coat of rain, and I can see my broken reflection in the puddles from the tears of the clouds. I wonder if the clouds have regrets too. I wonder if I turn grey like the clouds when I'm sad. Maybe I'm nothing but a raincloud, disguised in the form of a human being. I briefly shut my eyes, inhaling the fresh, crisp air. When my eyes open, I no longer see the parade of regrets chasing me. Thats strange, I think to myself. But then, an answer comes. My boot stubs something hard, and as I trip and fall, I see my regrets laying on the ground that is inches and seconds beneath me. However, when I hit the ground, they all disappear, and I am left with only the company of the wet pavement. I can taste the blood from my lip trickling into my mouth. It tastes like metal and fear. It tastes like regret. 
My first instinct is to get up. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? People always told me to never give up and pick myself up after I fall. To stay strong. But did they mean it literally? Would that advice apply to a situation where my regrets are taunting me and taking over my brain? If I get up, the regrets will find me again, and play cat and mouse with me until they get what they want. But here, on the damp cool pavement, I am safe from the things I wish I could go back and change. Those things are invisible to me; I'm invisible to the world. I shut my eyes and open my mouth, but I choke on my blood before words can escape. No one will find me here, no one, I assure my racing mind.
  I hear a motor slowly approaching. This is the end. I peek open my eyes and glance at the bus driver that is controlling the upcoming vehicle. It’s filled with adults and children and elderly people who have all escaped their parade of regrets, or are yet to face them. They don’t see me. The driver doesn’t see me. No one does. He runs over my body because I'm just a translucent figure that blends in with the plainness and dullness of the road. He doesn’t see me because I’m invisible, because I don’t matter. The last thing my eyes can capture is the watercolor pencil shaded sky, where I soon will be, free of my regrets that would have forever chased me.