My Hate And Me

I was fooling myself that I wouldn’t regret this later. The guilt I would never shake, you truly live for the moment when your actions are ruled my emotion. At this moment, my life was ruled by pure, undying, all encompassing hate. I have no care or vision of the world outside. No thought or intelligence, just pure emotion.

The adrenalin was making my hand shake, I pushed my knee down harder onto his chest, I could hear him wheezing through the blood, drowning, most of his face was covered in it, both my hands were.

I wiped my left hand on my jeans, keeping my right on his throat. I then took a biro out my back pocket and held it to his cheek

“You fucking cunt,” my words came out much shakier than I had hoped.

I drew a circle around both his eyes, however no ink came out, instead I just spread his blood around in circles.

“Pick a fucking eye,” I said, putting emphasis on each word. There was no reaction, I stared into his eyes, imagining what one of them was about to look like, from the perfectly constructed organ that took millions of years to get right, to the unsightly mush that would take seconds to create. His brow was tensed, so about a dozen lines lay parallel on his forehead, his brown eyes were so shiny, but through the tears I could see deep into him, I could see how he was scared, his humanity, I knew at that moment that he was once a child, he was once innocent, that he could have years of full life in front of him, he could raise a family. I knew this, because destroying it all was what I wanted, I want to take everything from him.

“PICK, A, FUCKING, EYE!” I repeated, louder this time.

My hand was shaking, I knew he wouldn’t respond, if my mind was in an emotional state, it was nothing compared to what he must be in, I looked down and saw he had pissed himself.

"Pussy," I said in his ear. I held the biro to the side of his right eye. Both eyes shut instantly, and a tear dropped down the side of his face.

I was surprised how hard it was to push the biro in, the nib split his eyelids, and the biro slid in, there were a few drops of blood, accompanied by a scream, far from the Hollywood zombie movie scream, the scream was almost quiet, perhaps damped by the amount of blood flowing down his throat, however it was piercing, echoing inside my head.

I let go of the pen, it was about three quarters of an inch in, and he was wailing uncontrollably, I felt sick, I expected to feel joy from doing so much damage to him , but the anger was substituted with something much more bitter. I placed my palm onto the top of the pen, and let all my weight drive it home into his head. With barely a whimper I felt him go limp.