~the anger cont'd
The day had ended as it usually did. With a stack of classwork that had just become homework.
Throwing his bag into his room, he sat on the ground next to it and scribbled answers to what was due tomorrow.
His room wasnt anything interesting. In fact, it was fairly boring looking. Off white coloured walls, considered cream coloured, a bed, a desk, a comp and a chair. Everything was low budget, nothing was bought other than what was neccessary to be considered liveable.
It didnt take him long to finish all his work and he went to his computer. He began writing, the days worth of imagination had cost him a lot of hours of madness, he needed it out. His stories were always brief. More correctly, they were scenes from stories. He never bothered to finish them, the story would haunt him later and he would write the next scene.
It was simple, it was effective. But it meant no stories were finished.
When the day's worth of stories that had haunted him had been written, he sat back and started playing games. Like Baldur's Gate, Starcraft and Age of Mythology. His mind was whirring, you would have sworn you could hear it at work.
After a solid few hours of playing, he decided to make dinner, his parents rarely cared what happened to him, too absorbed with work and his brother, Jack. Jack always managed to be smarter and do better. Or maybe it was just because Jack was the first child.
Shrugging off the sad feelings that wanted to envelope him, he went to the kitchen to start making dinner. When it was finished, he sat down alone at the table and ate. His parents had taken Jack shopping to celebrate his latest perfect report.
Delore had stopped showing them his report ages ago. Jack couldnt care less and would always point out his wrong points and his parents almost threw it in the bin last time he had given it to them. It wasnt that he had a bad report, it's more that they couldnt be bothered to care what he had gotten. It didnt matter that he was smarter than Jack was. All the teachers thought so.
Picking up his dishes, he cleaned them, put them back and grabbed his jacket. All this sadness was making his madness come back faster. He wanted to hurt something. He needed to hurt something.
Picking up his discarded blade, he walked outside. Darkness already cloaked the house and he felt alive. As though something inside had been freed. He wandered the streets looking for somthing, anything to hurt or kill.
Throwing his bag into his room, he sat on the ground next to it and scribbled answers to what was due tomorrow.
His room wasnt anything interesting. In fact, it was fairly boring looking. Off white coloured walls, considered cream coloured, a bed, a desk, a comp and a chair. Everything was low budget, nothing was bought other than what was neccessary to be considered liveable.
It didnt take him long to finish all his work and he went to his computer. He began writing, the days worth of imagination had cost him a lot of hours of madness, he needed it out. His stories were always brief. More correctly, they were scenes from stories. He never bothered to finish them, the story would haunt him later and he would write the next scene.
It was simple, it was effective. But it meant no stories were finished.
When the day's worth of stories that had haunted him had been written, he sat back and started playing games. Like Baldur's Gate, Starcraft and Age of Mythology. His mind was whirring, you would have sworn you could hear it at work.
After a solid few hours of playing, he decided to make dinner, his parents rarely cared what happened to him, too absorbed with work and his brother, Jack. Jack always managed to be smarter and do better. Or maybe it was just because Jack was the first child.
Shrugging off the sad feelings that wanted to envelope him, he went to the kitchen to start making dinner. When it was finished, he sat down alone at the table and ate. His parents had taken Jack shopping to celebrate his latest perfect report.
Delore had stopped showing them his report ages ago. Jack couldnt care less and would always point out his wrong points and his parents almost threw it in the bin last time he had given it to them. It wasnt that he had a bad report, it's more that they couldnt be bothered to care what he had gotten. It didnt matter that he was smarter than Jack was. All the teachers thought so.
Picking up his dishes, he cleaned them, put them back and grabbed his jacket. All this sadness was making his madness come back faster. He wanted to hurt something. He needed to hurt something.
Picking up his discarded blade, he walked outside. Darkness already cloaked the house and he felt alive. As though something inside had been freed. He wandered the streets looking for somthing, anything to hurt or kill.
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