The Bloody Valentine (Old)

Introduction

September 2, 2004.

Here I am, lying in bed thinking about a girl. I'm not thinking of just any girl. I'm thinking of Mary Burnham. Mary is not the usual girl you would sit in bed and think about. Oh no, you will never find her on a magazine cover. She's the type of girl that you have to stare at for a good while to see just how beautiful she really is. She has that hidden beauty which eludes most people. Mary is unusually tall for a girl, she stands at six feet. She has dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and an abundance of freckles.

I sit up. I just had one of those urges again. You know that feeling you get when you just want to kill somebody? I get those a lot these days. I can manage it. I've never acted on these urges yet, and I doubt I'll ever act on them. It's probably caused by stress. I shouldn't worry about it, it's not important. Everybody gets these urges, so why should I be any different?

I glance around my room. In the corner adjacent from the door is my computer. In the opposing corner is my bed. On the wall that both objects share there are hundreds of pictures of Mary - I'm not a stalker; I have an eye for beauty. There are various movies, books, and clothes scattered on the floor. I'm still on the bed. I'm a couple of inches taller than Mary, I, too, have brown hair. I have blue eyes and short hair. I don't like long hair, it makes me feel like I cannot afford a haircut. I have no facial hair. Facial hair is just too barbaric for me, we didn't evolve from those hairy primates to become hairy again.


September 7, 2004.

The silence of the early morning is interrupted by my father's muzzled voice. I cannot make out what he is saying, but nonetheless I'll find out soon enough. He has a tendency to tell the same stories over and over again until you can recite every last word. I can hear him running up the stairs. I brace myself for the door to swing open and the light, which will be turned into my face, to be flicked on. Sure enough, it happens. It happens everyday so I should not be surprised. "Time to get up! School starts today!" He screams.
"It's unreasonable to expect a teenager to get up before noon," I murmur.
Ignoring me, he states "You're a senior now!"

He has that uncanny ability to just blurt out any useless fact and make it sound important. I hate him for it. He could say it as plainly as he just did and it would sound important. He should be a politician. He leaves my room practically leaping as he goes. I haven't seen him this happy since the local brewery gave away free samples. He took thirty samples.

I make my way down the stairs. Maybe if I sneak out the door he won't tell me whatever story he's obsessing over. That notion is shot down as I see him standing at the head of the stairs. He is waiting for me so he can tell me. "I'm off to school," I say before he can get a word out.
"Uh, okay, see ya later!" He disappointingly says.

I dodged a bullet there. I do not know how many more of his stupid life stories I can take. I'm getting one of those urges again. This one is stronger than the last. I should really tell somebody about this. But then, what if I'm shipped off to an asylum? I do not want to be seen as crazy!

I arrive at school almost one hour early. That does not concern me. What does concern me is that I'm still thinking about killing my father. The urges do not usually last so long. What's causing it? Is it that I was irritated by him? That must be it. But he irritates me all the time. I feel like running home and ripping his head off. I'm not well. Maybe I'll forget about this as soon as school starts.