• Life was good. Being with her. Hugging her. Touching her. Kissing her. Loving her… “hey so what’s up?” I said. “nothing much really” she said. “hehe aww. Is some one bored?” I said “I love you” she said. suddenly my mom called and opened the door to my room. “Mark! You have to take the medicine.” She handed it to me with the upside down side of the cap to hold the two tablets.
    “Aren’t u gonna say I love you?” she said. “As soon as my mom leaves” I said “you should be able to say it to anyone.” She said. “I just can’t say it to you in front of my mom” I said. What I should have said is that I have a bad relationship with her and I don’t want her ruining anymore good things in my life.
    But I diden’t…I asked her. “Are we still together?” I was worried REALLY WORRIED. She had no reply. That night I kept asking her. But still she had no reply. And so I knew what that reply was. We were broken up. The Next months that had passed were filled with depression More for me than for her. She had gotten over me in about a month or so.
    And she had found a new boyfriend. And I still haven’t gotten over her. And I don’t think I ever will. All those nights thinking about my lost love hatred for myself for letting that happen. And Soon hatred started becoming everyone else.
    All the nights spent crying. I also started to cut myself. Thought it would relive pain. But it didn’t. My depression was sunken in. I started to think. It’s my fault… I should have said it… Maybe I don’t really love her… I wanna die…..my tears racing down my face. We still talked to each other. But It wasn’t the same. I could never find the things to say. All and all my questions were repitive and bland.
    She would invite me to come to her school and see her. But most of the time I saw her kissing her boyfriend. That burned me up inside, supreme hatred for her boyfriend. And im guessing her boyfriend has the same hatred for me as well.
    That night I was thinking. About myself. My dreams. And always about her. I wanted to become a marine not for the glory. Not for the respect. But for the sake of fighing and killing. More and more I understood who I was. I always watched fighting and action movies with aw. And Martial art’s movies with interest. I know what I can do now. I can’t die. If I die no one would remember me and no one would care. I would just be another statistic antoher suicide victim.
    And cutting wasen’t the answer I am sadistic I love hurting people. But not picking on weak people. What fun is that? No fun at all if they can’t fight…

    Hmmm. Should I continue this story? I've been debating this in my head for a while now. Mind all the mistakes please im just a beginner at writing stories. And i don't want any questions about his story. Just tell me if you want to continue it or delete it. i don't really know. I just want to c what people think.