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I Hate Her

Brownish hair like straw. Greenish eyes like mold. Dark circles like bruises. White skin like paper. Short. Bland. Gaunt. Empty.
I only ever catch her eye by accident. I despise her. I really do. I hate her with a blackness that sticks in my throat like push-pins. I see her looking at me sometimes, staring with sad, sunken eyes. Her pale face is blank and she just stands there, like a ghost, like a nothing. Gah, she makes me want to hit her. I did once, actually. I punched her right in her stupid face. You can bet she didn't look so emotionless then. Her anger echoed my own as my fist collided with hers, and then she was shocked, as bits of glass punctured my fingers and fell around me like rain.



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