Rage, fury, and hell, the story of Tommy, the quiet little boy
The Untitled title
a diary page of the left-hand crayon, a part of the "The Three Masks"
Im just there now. You would think after that, it would only make me stronger? Ha! I've given up. That final blow only left me for dead.
One successful strike after another, for the Earth to leave the final hand to come from the one I trusted the most. The one I trusted with everything and everything I had.
Trust.... HA! I laugh at thee. The most hardest to gain yet the easiest to lose. Once it is gone, it remains a scar upon the eye who cast upon it, the one who believed it was there. Once labeled a thief, who else can I blame? For I am not one who blames not by pointing fingers, but unless I see it with my own eyes. But my eyes are scarred now, and my constant cheek-turning has only left me with a slap on the face.
Although one may call them just materials, for this has largely surpassed principals, in my scarred eyes, they were precious. Precious to me, to have them STOLEN FROM THE ONE PERSON I WOULD HAVE PUT ALL MY FAITH IN!
The denial, the pain, the deaths, the grief, the heartache, and the misfortune. For what have I done to start the new year off like so still plagues my mind. Thoughts of smiles and kindness, honesty and compassion, I prayed to every dead or dying creature I saw, gave to those less fortunate and only tried to see the brighter things. This is my reward?
Its too late. Faith has brought me down and kicked me, poked out my eyes and bitched smacked me back to Earth. I should have known now. There is no faith. There is no fate. There is that little thing that people dream of to keep them moving. But me, Im just dead.