Have you ever been so frustrated with a situation that you wanted to tear the face off of the offending memeber and feed it to your dog? I don't think I've ever been so frustrated in my life. If you plan on hurting, breaking or destroying someone you had better fucking know how to do it. The little rabbit decided to run down the hole. It decided to go after Alice on the other end. There I was, defenceless, on a table, injured, a perfect little puppet to play with. It was wasted. So wasted. The little rabbit balked. It was all wrong. ALL wrong. The body can take so much, there was no game. It got me once but just like the rabbit, it went to fast, jumped ahead instead of thinking on how to dance. It ruined my fun and games.

I'm starting to think even that ones that were close to my equals, close to being ones I could toy with, play with the fire, are children. The one I thought was the closest, the one I'd have the most fun with...a fool. A blatant fool. The fun was ended before it began and now it rots in a metal cage. Idiot.

Am I deluded to think that there was even one? Am I deluded to think that the world that was, is still the world that is?

I've brought out my father's hunting knife. The one he trained me on. The one that so often slipped against my own tender skin. My own blood has stained that knife. It goes with me now, everywhere and I know what special bean I am going after first. A twist, a turn and pull. There won't be much to it. It will die, It will wish it never played with me. Never played with mine. She is mine. Mine all alone. My image, my mind, my skin. My blood. She will know the pain of the knife. She will know it, she will learn to love it. Just like mom.