14th January, 1987 

Blood. Screaming. Crying. A lady frantically shaking an unconscious guy. A little girl. Bombs. Running. They are running without someone. I don't know who that someone is. Yasmin. Pretty little Yasmin. Floof. I have a brother. He looks just like me. He has someone with him. She lives with us. Blueberry. Yeah, she's like a blueberry. Floof.. no.. no. I'm dejected. Mother.. she's disappointed. She loathes me. Everybody loathes me.. except my beloved Yasmin. no.. she dislikes me too. Accident. Coma. I feel more and more suicidal everyday. I want to die. I hate everybody. I feel homicidal. I want to destroy him. Murder. White room. Strait jacket. Psychopath. Therapy. Everything's normal. The insane patient... poor Mark. The kidnapping. The rape... I mentally made a note to torture him more than a human can take. Acting. The company. The affairs.. A wife? I have a wife now.. I don't like her. I never adored her. I have a son. He's cute.. I don't fancy him either. But he's mine nonetheless. Mine. She talks to him.. tries to turn him against me. Unacceptable. I thrash her. She shrieks. Stupid swine. That's what she gets. I shoot him. Blueberry weeps in my arms. Car accident. They die. I guess all lovers break up at some point. I wanted to scream and sob, but nothing came out. The tears were dried up. All finished. Nothing left. It was my own blade that did this. I didn't want them to die. They died when my fondness started growing for them. Grief. Loath. Everybody dies. Blueberry. She's left. I'm in a white room again...

They all reached their end.

I wonder if my next life would be just as tragic.

People crave for enthralling lives, wanting more challenges in life for it to not be so 'monotonous'.

I wish I had a monotonous life.

I tried to win, but ended up losing.

The sword of fate cut my life into pieces. They were the thread and needle; I was the scissors.

No, its their fault. I didn't do anything wrong.

I ruined them. They ruined me. Together, we ruined everything.

I reckon mother was always righteous then. I was intrinsically a mistake, and always will be.

I call the nurse and ask for a pen. She obliges, getting me a pen and leaving the room. I stare at the pen before stabbing myself in the eye.

I hate psychics.