Who Gave Kate a Journal? Terrible Idea.

[ChampionMouse]

The following writing is contained within a plain looking leather-bound journal that has seen better days. The corner of the latest page has been folded over to mark its place. The pages themselves are rather yellow and stained by a variety of liquids that fill the nostrils with an odd burning sensation that is suffered when quickly flipping through the text.

Surprisingly, for the crudeness of the content, the penmanship is quite exceptional.

(This is a warning that the author of the text , Katelyn Daviault, has no qualms about using rather profane language at times. If you do not enjoy this, or are sensitive to the use of such language, please do not continue reading.)

Spoiler:

Bullshit.

That's my synonym for optimism. The only thing you can ever really count on in this life is yourself and your gun. I learned that from an early age, and anyone that tells you different is a sodding liar. Love? Peace? Friendship? Also crap. Why do people tag along with others? Selfish desires. Other people have this magical little ability to make you feel good about yourself, or make you feel good in general. Clinging to that feeling makes relationships inherently selfish.

Booze? That's something you can rely on. Why? Because they'll never stop making it ‘cause of the hefty profit it brings, and because it makes you forget everything that sucks. And if it doesn't make you forget everything that sucks, it at least makes everything a bit more entertaining.

I've been noticing lately people going on and on about this brotherhood and trust crap. What the hell is all that supposed to do for me? You know what happens when you trust people? They take advantage of your naïve idiocy and leave you somewhere in a ditch to die. That's right. Die. Do you want to die? No? Then stop trusting people. As for brotherhood, I don't know if these people mean it literally, but if I tended to trust anyone who shared some blood with me I'd be developing a whole fecking army. When your Pa is some kind of man slut, that's what happens.

People are pretty disgusting. They hurt each other all the time and then expect two little words to make all the difference. “I'm sorry.” Well you know what? Words are words. I can say whatever the hell I want, but that doesn't make it true. All it makes it is shit coming out of a drunken half apathetic mouth.

This journal? Also garbage. Why? Because it is pointless. I'm not going to ramble in here and come to some sort of conclusion about the kind of person I am or the kind of person I want to be. I'm just going to ramble on and on without any goals. Any optimism this brings me is going to be short lived and ultimately trite. I'm essentially wasting my time right now, and whoever the hell else decides to read this. Their time. Whatever. Who cares? Why do I even care about writing this?

.....

Oh yeah, because I'm right. I think I just wanted to tell that to someone who wouldn't argue with me. People love to argue with me. Wah wah wah. Kate, you're so wrong. Wah wah, you're so angry. Waaaah, you're a b***h. Well, screw you. I'm writing this and there isn't anything you can do to stop me. Goddamn bunch of pansy asses is what you people are. So caught up in your own little fantasy worlds of goodness and love and peacebloom that you can't even stop to realize the truth of the world around you.

The real truth is that everyone sucks. This doesn't exclude me, or you. We all do. Nothing we do matters, really. We're all pathetic failures running around trying to justify our meaningless lives before we die. I don't want to get caught up in this damn system. I don't. All it leaves you with is regret and disappointment.

And that's where the booze comes in.

Cheers, mate.

[muhaha8]

That...is pure poetry. Terrible in language and vulgarity, but amazing. I agree with her, too...God, I'm so cynical...

[Seraphim]

How did I miss this post. It's glorious. Fantastically-written.

Nothing we do matters, really. We're all pathetic failures running around trying to justify our meaningless lives before we die. I don't want to get caught up in this damn system. I don't. All it leaves you with is regret and disappointment.

Seraph and Kate need to hang out some time.

[ChampionMouse]

The next page was crumpled, torn in the corner rather than folded. Moisture had dribbled down onto the page in several places causing the ink to bleed and seep through onto the back side. Like veins of black blood, running through skin as thin as paper. The lines of letters would fork off in random directions and then come together to create something unfamiliar. Something foreign. Something devastatingly dark and against the author's purpose. Or was it against her purpose? Perhaps it was a fitting abstract motif that would appear again and again; a pattern to infiltrate a body so fragile in construction. What was important, the words, or the images in varying shades of true suffering?

Spoiler:

When will it be my turn? I've seen those adults, those older people working their jobs and giving us younger ones words of encouragement. They say, “Just work hard and you'll get there someday, kiddo.” Or maybe they use the word Tiger. I fucking hate that one. Any demeaning derogatory term they can think of to devalue our immediate existence, as if it was threatening that we should take control in the here and now. I'm not so young anymore, twenty-seven to be exact, but I'm still surrounded by all these would be war heroes. They come back with their tales of glory and shit, saying some day it will be our turn to make a difference. Where is that turn? How is it I can get up every light damned day, try my hardest to go out and fight crap, and get nothing but some money. Where is my pride? My chance at change? How do you even start change? Everyone talks about it. Everyone wants it; but we're all just sitting here on our asses over a pint because we're lost.

I don't want to be fucking lost. I want to walk through the woods and know where I'm going like some fucking Elven Ranger. And, by the way, if anyone finds this garbage and takes that last statement literally, I should smack you upside the head with my rifle. Who said the world was for aimless wandering? Who decided that it had to have some direction? Who got to decide any of these things? Why am I playing by the rules of someone else's game?
I should get pay back against this world. Leading me on like a man who cuddles with you in the hay one minute, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, and then off and joins the war efforts the next day. f**k people like that. And it isn't just people. The whole damn way life was designed by people is like that. If you aren't something, you're nothing. What is nothing? Some philosophical sacks of crap will argue that even nothing is something, but they are wrong.

They ain't ever had to come home to an empty house day after day. They ain't ever had to go through a rough time where booze is your only friend and the people that you do know don't even bother to say “Oh hey there, Kate, how was yer day?”

That's what nothing is. Nothing is the feeling of suffering. Nothing is the varying shades of darkness that I see when I close my eyes at night. Nothing is what I feel in my gut when I'm alone and wanting to tear the skin from my face because I feel like I ain't good enough to make anybody want me. Nothing is feeling like I'll never be anything better than what I am. Nothing is wondering why I live. Why I fight. Why I…

I think I'm getting my damn point across. So essentially, f**k ya, world. I can't be nothing. Because if I'm nothing, then I'll have wasted all my time. What story will there be for me to tell? What will I have to share of myself with anyone else? I'll have lived. Fought. Breathed. Died. And what, the end? That isn't good enough! People tell me that isn't good enough all the time! It isn't fair that I have to be relegated to that role! I won't be...I won't.

What the hell is the point of telling you this anyway? You're just a crappy piece of paper in a crappy book. All I need is myself. So come on, self. Keep going. Keep going. Any day now you can make it. You can do it. Just keep going. Don't forget how to survive.