Rabbits [Reyes ~ Day Five]

Three words creep across my eyelids as I fall asleep.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. [color=I hate you. I hate you.

I HATE YOU.

I HATE YOU

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I HATE YOU

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I HATE YOU

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I HATE YOU

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I HATE YOU

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DIE

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My brothers and sisters spread dozens, maybe hundreds of those little pieces of paper around my room. But not just there. For weeks, I found them in all sorts of places. Hidden behind corners, slipped underneath my door in the middle of the night, stuffed in the sleeves of my dress shirts and the pockets of my training clothes. Even at school, I'd find them, taped underneath my desk. And as I fall asleep, I think of the words. Simplicity was always one of their strong suits, but I swear it's just lack of creativity. You'd think they could come up with better words, or have some originality.

None of the notes bothered me when I came across them at home. It was kinda just.. at school. I don't know why. I would find one stuck beneath my desk or on my chair or something, and for a minute, I'd wonder..

Are they the only ones?

The words stopped coming, obviously. But they got worse as they went along. The other kids started writing them on walls, in obvious places, with big letters, so everyone who walked past would wonder what they meant. A Peacekeeper even called it an act of rebellion once, but there were never any signs of trouble so of course that idea fell away. Then, one day, I found the word "die" carved into my bedroom floor with a knife, and I was pissed. I showed my parents, and they shook their heads at it, told me to watch my back (ha ha ha, helpful) and promised to get the floor fixed. They didn't. I actually kinda liked it after a while -- it was a pleasant warning. Just like any caution sign, it served its purpose to remind me to proceed carefully, and never ever make risky decisions. Somehow I got out of the habit.

I sleep. I eat my squirrel. I venture into the prairie. I fail at catching a rabbit, or maybe I succeed, and am emotionally traumatized by the fact, but really the rabbit is my family and my companions and the people in my life who I could never trust, and by the time I'm done looking at it and possibly talking to it I'm forcing out every emotion to become numb and I'm realizing that I'm so damned lonely but I don't want to feel this way and there's no point because I'll be lonely until I die, so there's nothing else to do but fight and ignore all these nagging feelings.

[dice=2]

[Clearly a WIP. I mean to edit this quite a bit because it'll be fun but I'm horribly tired so good night. He eats his squirrel and flees.]


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