Strength is ephemeral for me. My body is strong, surely, but that has been a given since late high-school. What is truly strong is my will; my mind. Or else the barrage of inane freewriting I’ve been dealt today ALONE would send me into a screaming fit. I would run off to my room, take up my knife, click it open and jam it deep into my right eye, praying that I knew enough about anatomy to hit my brain in a vital location. My gravestone would be strong. It would be made of marble, or perhaps granite. And it would have the inscription,

”Hugh Henry Wyatt
Born December 24, 1984
Died November 29, 2004

He was arrogant, sarcastic, and gave good hugs.
Then he stabbed himself in the eye.
Now he’s dead, and probably rotting.”


More typing eh? Well, guess I can’t do it. Since I’m dead now and all. I have a knife in my eye, in case you hadn’t noticed. It kinda hurts. And stuff. I really should consult the nail bunny about things like this. It’s really beginning to seem like class doesn’t matter all that much. Just the finals. The ever-present finals, in all their horrible, Hellish glory. Mmmm, Hellish glory.