And Then The Murders Began

Chapter Ten: Is This The Real Life?

Tonight, I'm feeling the angriest that I can ever remember being, even when I was caught in the middle of Lylah's rampage, and it's only made worse by the confusion that's coming with it... Then, I was just mostly terrified and scared for my life, and I was pissed that I was going to die like this- a scared, cowardly wuss, shot in the back of the main office by the still-cooling bodies of the principal and superintendent. Back then, the first thought on my mind was how I was going to stay alive. I knew that Lylah wouldn't hesitate to take a crack at me if she had the chance, and that she would hesitate even less to aim that steel cylinder of death and destruction right at the center of my head.

Thankfully for me, she didn't get the chance to do that. No, what happened was even worse- I was the one holding the gun on her, and I pulled the trigger on her.

Now, though? I'm done, and whether that's physically, mentally, or just a lot of both, I'm not sure. It's probably both... definitely both.

I realize that I'm an absolutely fucking awful person, that I killed my best friend, my lover, and I haven't done anything about it, except just focus on me... wow, you almost died, but some people actually did die and yet you're choosing to focus on yourself, real nice of you there, Electra...

I snag my journal back out and flip it through it until I find an open page, of which there aren't many left. Some of them have my sloppy pencil scratchings from when I was in fourth grade, alternating between red ink, green ink, blue and black ink in progressively neater handwriting, until it takes a noticeable dive back down towards where it stood over a decade ago. I don't know why, I have a lot of things going on in my life right now- had a lot of things going on, and still more today. I know that I was supposed to go out for a walk, but after what just happened, I can't bring myself to do it anymore. Instead, tears flowing softly, I duck back in the house, making sure that all the deadbolts have been behind me.

Right now I'm feeling like a worthless sack of shit, so I creep up the stairs into my room and shut the door behind me, making sure that it's locked. After that, for extra good measure, I take several of the books off of the bookshelf above the food to my bed, making sure that I've picked the heaviest ones, and place them against the door. Hopefully that'll help me feel better about my sorey self, but if my tail hugging my ass is any sign, yeah that's a definite nope...

Doesn't hurt to try, though, you know?

Deep breath in, let it out, feel it tickle your nose... then do that again, Electra, in, out, in, out, in out, in...

I haven't bothered to take a shower to get clean in forever, so my fur is an absolute disaster area, I know that. I probably like a sack of shit right now, and you know what? I'm all out of shits to give. I realize that to any sane person (disclaimer: I am not one), I probably seem like I'm off my rocker, and I'm seriously starting to wonder if I've finally lost it, or if I never really had it in the first place, and it's only now that it's showing through. I really need to talk to someone, but Doctor Tremblay's a shrink. It's her job to say that there are problems, to train her sharpest lens on someone and nitpick out all their littlest flaws and insecurities, not to help that person solve them.

Though to be completely honest, I'm sure that my brain could stand a good scrubbing. I don't understand why I can't get my mind off all of this shit that I've been going through. I realize that that's probably going to be a really foolish expectation of myself, to be able to move past what happened so soon after, but when my mind hooks on something, it doesn't really like to let go. Maybe it's the guilt, I don't know.

No, scratch that, I do know, and I can't understand it some days. It is the guilt, but for whatever reason, I can't bring myself to fully accept that. I don't know what's going to happen to me if I stay here at home any longer. I'm starting to feel stir-crazy, and with me, that's never a good thing. I need a change in scenery and I need it as soon as is damn possible, but there's no way in hell that that's ever going to happen unless I manage an attitude change, and that's not going to happen unless I quit griping so much and take a more positive outlook on life.