"I know you hate me" I typed. I sat and stopped. The blue "reply" button in the bottom right corner stared at me. The finality it represented should have scared me more. It was quick, easy, and un-repent-able. All I needed to do was work the trackpad of my computer to waver the hand over the "button." I than simply needed to tap the trackpad with one of my fingers and the words which stood lit on my computer screen would be sent to the other person. It would move unimaginably fast and would tear at her heart to see my clearly hurtful words. They where meant to sting. So easy. It should have scared me more.
I wish I could say why I am capable of evil. It seems to delve deep within my chest. I can feel it grow when I grow angry, sad, alone, or disturbingly so, when I am bored. I think the latter is the rarest. I hope it is the rarest. It grows quickly, not slowly. I don't think evil just appears, it is always within me, but it is sometimes small and sometimes great. I try not to be swept away.
It seems petty to say but I don't remember why I wanted to hurt her. She hurt me I think. No. I am sure she hurt me at some point and retribution is something I enjoy in the moment. It fills me with a hollow pleasure and slowly deflates upon itself. I think the guilt which weights within it is to great that it must collapse when unleashed. Unlike the evil within me guilt doesn't exist within my chest. It delves within the pit of my stomach. It is always very great but on lucky moments it shrinks. Those moments of guiltless and gutless evil are frightfully wonderful though sadly when it disappears the guilt that encompasses me is tenfold worse.
"I know you hate me" is no longer on the screen. Only a flashing 90 degree bar remains upon the white surface that my computer attempts to create. It doesn't seem all that real does it? The glow hurts my eyes in time and the feeling within my cranium is that of unreleased pressure. I still don't know where the valve is.
"I hate you" has now taken its form before me. I think I was here before wasn't I? No, I typed "I know you hate me." It doesn't seem to make much difference. Hate is hate. She hates me so I hate her in return. Or perhaps I hate her and want her to hate me for hating her. I think the later is true. It is hard to say. Either way I am back to a familiar place. The words of pain are before me and the button is once again so easily taken advantage of. I just need to tap my trackpad and I will have successfully sent my insubstantial dagger of pain. though it doesn't hang before as if in a daze I am still unable to grasp it.
The screen blinks "message sent successfully" upon a white background that doesn't seem all that real. It only sends a pressure to my brain which doesn't appear ever to be realized. I know I will blame the computer. It is easier to blame the technology than the user. I don't mind. It is a wonderful scape goat. If I had been forced to write a letter she would never have been wounded. She would be happy that night. She would be alive and with her friends. To bad for that easy reply button.
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