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This diary entry is written by letusdance. ( View all entries )
Previous entry: Diary 30 October 2011 in category (general)

What a chipper little thing!Category: (general)
Saturday, 19 November 2011
08:17:13 PM (GMT)
Like poison again, your bitter wailing cuts its way through my unconsciousness,
brining me back to this world I loathe. Ice sets in my heart, as it pounds. My eyes
glaze over, rage sets in my heart. Frigid, I see red as I jump from my bed, the cold
night air assaulting my skin. I don’t care. Down the hall, I find you. Curled up in
a corner, your sobs of misery falling upon deaf ears. You don’t even see me. I
strike, my foot connecting with your rib cage. I feel a satisfying snap. I’m not
sure if it was your body being crushed under me – or my body attempting to turn me
away from my current goals. All the same, it again, like your wails – now of pain
and fear – fall upon deaf ears. I strike again, my fists slamming you against the
wall, before grabbing you by the hair to bring you up to my level. “stupid girl”
I spat into your face. Your eyes filled with fear – maybe that’s not the word for
it, you were petrified. A deer in headlights - a girl before my fist. Somehow, this
only encourages me. I strike again, throwing you down against the wall.

You look up at me, not even a whisper of courage is left in your dead eyes. Bleak,
when I look back, that’s how I’d describe you, as if your fear had driven you
from your body, perhaps it had. All I know is that you continued to howl in pain as I
struck you. I could see blood snaking its way down your chin from the corner of your
mouth. I remember laughing. A cold, hard laugh. It chilled even me, even though I was
the one laughing. That’s when I saw the light return to your eyes.

You looked me straight in the eye. I looked back, raising my fist. To finish this -
for some reason that was my only objective; my only goal. To be rid of you. I struck
again, your head whipped to the side as I struck you, my fist colliding with the once
porcelain-ivory skin of your face. Flawless, now battered. I continued, until you’d
no longer scream. Lost interest – the doctors think. They think that I only done it
cause another living thing pain – to feel powerful.

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