How easy it would be to snap his neck, to watch him bleed, to make him hurt; how simple it would be to paint the world red with the tips of my fingers and yet I know I wouldn't-couldn't-do it. I want to rip that damn smile off his fucking face, I wanted him to see, to understand that what he was doing was wrong. I wanted to world to see it-all those eyes to scorn him, to shhun him, to hate him because for so long they stared upon her-on me. People are so disgusting nowadays; they are consumed with their lust for attention, for their transient moment in the lime light; they are corrupted by their greed to obtain petty objects that are not needed; they are weighed down by the thought of belong, for having connections with the higher authorities; they wear themselves away until there is nothign left, nothing but a vague collection of reflections cast upon a hideous expression called a face.

I hated them for what they were doing-for what they would do to her, for the sorrow and injustice of it. They would destroy her, corrupt, taint her with their grubby, filthy little hands. Why should they have that pleasure, that satisfaction of ruining a perfectly good person, a potental sould accumalating a purpose? I wanted to hide her away, to beat the world, to hiss, to scream and kick and cry and plead. For the first time in my life I understood Dominique. I understood why she wanted to destroy Roark, why she broke that statue she loved, why she did the things that she did; I don't want the world to see how lovely she really is-don't want them to take what little sweet-ness is left within her heart away. I wanted to lock her away, to send her to some far away place where no one would every find her. She doesn't deserve it-what's happening...she's too pristine for their filthy hands of lust and manipulations.

I'm tired, but then again I'm always tired nowadays. I want to sleep for a while...sleep until the world isn't what it is. I'm sick. I'm choking. I'm useless and worthless and hideous because I've become tainted like them, like all those eyes that I shy away from. The red lines upon my eyelids are here to stay just as the lines of my eyelids continue to deepen.

I wanted to be number one; wanted to feel that pride in succeeded everyone's expectations. But slowly that illusion is beginning to break. I should've been more careful, but I wanted to much to obtain that letter, to show everyone that I was smart, that I could do it. I don't know if I can now. Maybe I will come through. I think I made her jealous, made her angry that I got higher scores than her, made her come to hate me just a bit. I don't understand why though-if you wanted to be number one then take it because I only wanted it to prove myself more than anyone else, now, that I could do it, that I could make it.

I don't want sympathy or empathy; I don't want to hear, "I hope you'll be okay" or whatever it is that will be said. I will be fine-always am. Just putting down my thoughts.

A single step begins the journey....a single step.