Doom and Gloom...

Thought of the Day:

Who The Hell Am I?

What defines a person? Is it how they act around people; or how they act around themselves? Is it their past, their future, or their now. Is it who they'll be, who they where, or who they think they are? I don't get it. I really, really don't. I mean, if I act like a bitch now; but then in ten years I'm a total hippy-peace-chic who helps starving people in Africa, am I still a bitch? Or, let's say, I'm lovely-lovely-lovely, nobody can say a bad word against me, and then bam! I murder some innocent bystander? 


(That, by the way, was not me announcing to the world I am planning to kill someone. Which I'm not. But by saying that I instantly sounded suspicious, didn't I?)


Anyways. I've been a Hutchison all my life, right? And then suddenly, I'm a Graham. Am I really a Graham, or am I a Hutchison pretending to be a Graham? Or, have I been a Graham all along and just suddenly realized it? Or, what if it doesn't even matter. What if I am worrying about this all the time, when it's never going to matter anyway? Or could this be the most life changing thing in my life, and now I've just decided it doesn't matter?


So there it is. My Thought of the Day.
No, I dunno how it got in my head either...


Anyways,
I wrote this. I have no idea what it is, what it has to do with anything, or whatever else you might ask. Its pretty doom-and-gloom, apologies for that...
Love,
Sarah xxx

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In The End.

Something was wrong. The air was pressing in on her: choking her, fighting her. Darkness coursed like blood through her veins - Slowly, slowly, taking over. She felt her leg twitch. Her ears pop. Her eyes roll into the back of her head. Stars danced behind her eyelids: exploding suns and black holes and infinite nothing.
    Nasty girl.
    The voice was ice. It brought the hairs on the back of her next to a standing ovation. Made cold beads of sweat drip down her forehead.
    Horrible, nasty girl.
    She only now realized just how fast her heart was thumping; just how much her head was spinning. She was in vertigo. Direction and gravity had lost all control. Nothing made any sense.
    You are evil, cursed.
    Killer words. Killer words that made her entire body combust. Hurt and pain and breaking bones. Every part of her. Like a china doll fallen to the ground: shards of porcelain scattered on the floor.
    When should we kill you?
    Was this worse than death? She was not sure. Death was peaceful, compared to this. Torture. Tempting her. Luring her into the trap.
    Do you wish to die now?
    Death. Death was like never-ending slumber; like falling asleep and just not waking up. Ever again. Did she want that?
    Or later…When you are on the brink of humanity?
    Did she, didn’t she? It was like a game without rules. Or maybe rules she didn’t understand, didn’t realize she had broken until…now. The climax of this warped, bitter game. Twisted and wicked. Inhumane.
    You are sick. You’re blood is tainted. You are a wicked, wicked girl.
    She shook her head… “I - I’m not. I’m not…”
    Tears. Hot on her face. White-hot and burning. Always burning. Always hurting. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to lose this world. The heat, the fire, the life.
    You deserve no mercy.
    Goodbye.