Salt Pillars

Chapter 7

Gabe

Entry 1.

For this assignment I'm supposed to keep a journal of my thoughts with weekly entries. My thoughts so far are that this is stupid and I don't know what to write. Blah blah blah filling space. I hate this class. Is that enough?

Entry 2.

Here's a thought... All the people in this school are a bunch of drones. They look and act just like everyone else and reject anyone who won't conform to what they are. Assholes. Yesterday some jocks decided it would be funny to dump my backpack out all over the hallway in front of half the school. Real cool. I had to scurry around on my hands and knees picking up my books and papers like a rat while these so called "cool kids" laughed and pointed at me. They chanted "Corn hole, Corn hole." For as long as I can remember they've been calling me that stupid nickname, Corn hole. I hate that name. I fucking hate this world. There's nothing worse than being laughed at.

Entry 3.

It's just me and my mom for dinner tonight, as always. She made her disgusting meatloaf again and tried to talk to me about life. She doesn't understand anything. The narrow world of religion and God that she lives in doesn't have any place for me. If there is a God then he is either cruel or the light from his love doesn't shine where I live. My mom has become such a delusional troll since dad left. She cooks and cleans incessantly and talks to herself. I'd rather avoid her altogether. Dumb bitch. Slayer and COD Modernware are my religion. Give me a game controller and some heavy metal and I'll rain down bullets and destruction with the fist of all the gods. That's real salvation.

Entry 4.

Her neck beneath her dark flowing hair. She turns her head and whisks the hair back with her hand giving only a brief glimpse of the smooth slender temptress beneath. Rachel. This is how you torture me. As if she couldn't feel my eyes burning behind her. As if she doesn't know. But maybe she can't see me at all. Maybe none of them can.

I am the invisible boy. If only I could reach out and touch her neck. If only I could speak then she could see me. But how could I? I'm so fucking ugly and socially retarded. If she did see me she would just laugh or look away with disgust. Why did god curse me with this acne-riddled face? Couldn't he have made me any other person? Instead he mocks me by putting something so beautiful directly in front of me but eternally out of my reach. Of course she would rather be with that jock Travis. He's cool and popular and I'm just a disgusting loser. I wish that I could die.

Entry 5.

Yesterday on my walk home from school I decided to take a detour under the overpass. There was this puddle that had frozen over with a layer of dark ice. It looked like glass, smooth and perfect. I thought about how epic it would be to destroy it, so I grabbed a large chunk of concrete and tossed it through the surface and it shattered into these icebergs. I wished that there was someone else around to see it. It was so cool.

I've begun to envy the innocents of children. Each one so uniquely themselves without any concept of how the external world views them. I hate the notion that they somehow become us and we ultimately become our parents. This line of thought taints the purity that they carry with them. Instead I like to imagine that we are born from them and they die off like we're a cancerous growth that kills it's host but lives on to become its own being. They didn't become us — we killed them.

I've lost myself. I used to have dreams and now only nightmares, fantasies of death. The world had once contained a touch of magic now only holds dark cynicism.

Entry 6.

Death! Death death death, Kill, murder.

Suicide is the purest form of expression. Fuck everything. Fuck this life. Pain. PAIN pain. Loneliness. Emptiness. Pointlessness. She is the center of everything and she deserves to die. Hatred is the blanket that warms me. They all deserve to die.