Spoiler
I posted this in "other" because I don't plan on continuing it...I actually dug it up from a while ago, and reading it gave me a feeling of dread and horror, almost. Is it a decent piece? I feel like it's just ALL emotion and I'm not sure if that's a good thing. Any tips would be appreciated!
April 2nd 1985
I officially hate him. I almost wish I could kill him. I don’t even care if that sounds utterly cruel, wicked, heartless or evil…because so is he. I honestly wish (this is no I’m-angry-so-I-want-to-disown-him kind of thing; I’ve thought and wished this for years) he was not related to me.
If I could, I would truly disown him as a brother, because in reality, he is not one. So-called blood is the only thing that binds us, and as it is well known, blood does not make family. Those whom you love and who love you are the ones that are true family, and I do not love him and he does not live me; thus, I conclude, that we are not brother and sister at all, but enemies destined to be at each other’s throats.
I write this with an entirely calm heart. I, finally, after all these dreadful years, have succumbed to complete hatred. I will not even write that person’s name here, for by doing so I would only filthy my pages. I have no desire to dirty my writing with that creature’s name, and so will refer to it, as ‘him’. It will be obvious to me in future years of whom I refer.
I shall try to ignore him to the best of my meek ability. I fear I shall give in to it; get upset, angry or annoyed. That is all such a being lives for – to thrive on other’s pain. To inflict hurt is his only true goal in life. I have seen the proof of this for years, so don’t waste breath telling me “perhaps you are wrong.” I am not wrong. There is absolutely no point in trying to convince myself otherwise…one can only succeed at self-deceit so many times and I have long since passed my limit.
There is no hope for him. I will allow myself no small spark of hope or affection for that hideous beast. He has consumed enough of my thin skin; of my faltering endurance. I confess, penning these wicked thoughts brings grief, as if writing them finally shows to the world that they are whole-heartedly true. It also brings a strange sort of relief – I am glad I have finally, finally, after long days of suffering, realized that no matter how hard I try to appose this messenger of truth, he keeps coming back in full-force, causing me to cringe inwardly at his harsh, ice-cold words. Those words that bring the truth.
My only hope to survive this destructive life is to build up my resistance to his bards, so that only the very sharpest have strength to pierce my hide. Besides that, or in accordance with that, I must learn to protect myself with silence. Ignoring him is the safest way to bring the misery to an end. My resolve must strengthen day by day, for if it does not, I may do something I’ll regret…
