“The Gods have no mercy. That’s why they’re Gods.” – Cersei Lannister
Am I a horrible, selfish, thankless person for wishing death upon myself? Probably.
I wish for car accidents, cancer, building site accidents, lightning strikes, accidental asphyxiation on a piece of bread, senseless violence in the train station, a random mugger with a switchblade, and who knows what else. Anything or anyone that might deliver me of this ailment called life would be welcomed. I would prefer to go alone and without much pain, but if it takes the Powers That Be a terrorist attack or a serial killer to end it, so be it. Of course, far be it from the Powers That Be, if there are any, to have mercy on me. To have mercy at all. If you want to have anything done well, you have to do it yourself, no?
Unfortunately I am currently oath-bound not to take an attempt at my own life, hence why I am frantically praying for someone else to finish me of. Useless, but in times of no hope even the heretics turn to prayer.
I can’t face my mother. I can’t. Facing my father was bad enough, and for the most part he doesn’t give a shit about me. My mother cares, and that is the downfall of both of us. Her wrath will be horrifying and her disappointment will be worse. And I will sit there and cry and wish for death like any common coward under torture. I will face her, I know that, and I will probably make it out without physical harm, but I just can’t bear it. It’s going to be horrible.
Why can’t I just be honest? Gah, I hate that I am such a coward that I have to lie about my failures, only to have those lies blow up in my face and increase my punishment exponentially. I hate it. I don’t want to be a coward anymore.