The pessimist 
 
I'm standing in the middle of death. Surrounded. No where to run; no wehre  
to hide. Everyone starring. They've branded me the outcast by their looks  
and whispers. Nothingis said. Nothing needs to be said. I can read it in  
their eyes, as well as their body language. 
 
I try to walk away, but they block me in with their snickering. If I walk,  
they laugh. I'm dying on the inside. What do I do? Where do I turn? I have  
no one. My heart starts to beat abnormally. I am abnormal. 
 
Do I have the courage to stand up to them? Do I have what it takes to face  
my fear? No, I don't. Pesimistic, that's what I am. Why get my hopes up by  
being optimistic, only to be hurt by the truth? I can't take the pain  
anymore. The only thing holding the tears back is my pride. Do I dare try to  
make them believe I don't care? No..they know the truth. The know they're  
killing me. Everyday. The killing gets stronger as I grow weaker. I can't  
handle it anymore. The sweat running down my face, I head towards the door,  
only to find him standing there. The only choice I have now is which way to  
die. To have him kill me, or to turn back to the stares and snickering. 
 
I choose to go back. As I try to face my fear, the room starts spinning, and  
everything turns black. I smile as I start to think I've died. I see a light  
along with a face. God? No, it's him. I open my eyes to find him stabbing my  
chest over and over with his laughs. To him, it's a thrill. To me, it's  
hell. The continuous death of laughter. 
 
Why get me hopes up by being pesimistic, only to be hurt by the truth? I am  
the pesimist. I am realistic.