Hate. Pure, Dirty Hate.
It coursed through him.
Hate for this one, and that one. Over here, far away, everything. He wasn't in a good state of mind.
It got to him. It dug deep. The hate was just a seed for the tree of pain that was taking root in his mind. He had to dig it out.
Furious, he scratched at his face, trying to dig it out, trying to be like them.
But he hated them.
The slow pressure behind his eyes started to swell.
It was driving him mad, these feelings inside. He hated it. He wanted to kill it. Whatever it was. Hate? Sure why not? Why not hate that too? Let's hate hate.
Let's lash out needlessly at those we love. Let's ignore those close to us, because yeah, we hate them too. Let's strike pain and fear into the hearts of those we want to love us. Let's drive them away, so our demons can get in closer. Sure. Why not.
It wasn't like his life meant anything. It was just piles of ashes of pieces of other peoples lives that he had skipped to and from.
And he hated himself for that.
It itched again, that hatred in his mind. His knuckles white, he dug into his scalp until they came away bloody.
Someone, he thought, would need to happen along, or else this may be irrepairable.
And they needed to hurry.