A new year, but that's all that's different.

7. 7 of them. All seven, dead.

Friends, strangers... Anyone who'd let me move in with them, anyone who'd give me shelter from whatever murderer or beast or curse is following me.

I'm more pissed off than scared now. At these murders, at that girl who watches me at night, at my life. I'd like nothing more right now that to break something, to destroy. I'd like nothing more right now just to put my foot through something, be it a wall or a window or a table or a person, and just hear it crack.

Look at this place I'm in. Never before have I realized just how fragile the world is. These windows? I'm sure they'd make the most delectable shattering noise if I threw a rock at it. These wooden walls? Wouldn't take much effort to make a nice sizable hole in it with a chair. These champaign glasses? Just a quick swipe of the hand, and I can watch all the little fragments sparkling on the ground.

Is it really wrong for me to want to destroy it all? Is it really wrong for me to want to smash apart whatever illusions of safety I have? Is it really wrong to want to finally bend apart the bars of this hideous cage, and escape?

Is it really wrong for me to hate this existance where all I can do is hide rom my problems, from my fears?

I want to break something. If I can't destroy this horrible, wretched curse that's befallen me, let me destroy everything else.