Hey there, Journal
At WHAT POINT did I -EVER- say I was pitying myself?
Never. Because I'm -not-. Is it THAT FUCKING HARD to believe that I can be perfectly content with ailing, simply because I -know my place- in the world? That I'm -bound, obligated, and supposed- to fail? Like. Goddamn. I don't want your pity. Nobody.
Hey there, Journal,
For the record, journal, actually giving a shit about people is terrible. Remind me to stop trying it.
It's kind of gotten to the point where I'd rather she be with anyone but me, so that she'd be better off. Fuck why am I so terrible.
I haven't talked to you in a little while, huh? Haven't really had any need to, to be perfectly honest. Life's boring as fuck, as always. I feel like I'm living the same days over and over, even with their minor variations. At least, I was. I more or less still am. Hm. I dunno. I mean, I could go fuckin' -anywhere- with her I'd bet, but even then, then we'd have nowhere new to visit.
Think I'll ask her what she thinks.
Hey, Journal,
How long has it been, exactly, since I decided that I -wanted- to be weak?
Couldn't have been that long. The only reason I ever joined the DSMA in the first place was because Hath beat the shit out of me, and I only ever wanted to beat him.
SHUT UP.
Dear Journal,
Ha! I bet you thought I was dead, didn't you? Well, you're wrong. So very wrong. Things've been going really slowly as of late, journal. I've pretty much had nobody to talk to other than the whores and idiots and general normals who come by the corner for the sole purpose of pissing me off, and I was even considering quitting being a corner mage to open up a bakery slash tea shop or something instead.
The writing goes about five pages deep into the journal, absolutely scratched in by some sort of now probably messed up quill.
Fuck. Why do I even try? Nobody wants to hear the truth. Nobody wants to meet themselves and see somebody who's imperfect. Of course not. And especially, nobody's going to listen to some fucking green-hatted mage on a street corner, trying to enlighten them on simple stuff like this.
(A surprising lack of language, compared to every other entry thus far.)
It's approximately 200 years into the future. Gnomes have taken over the world and the rest of us are now their slaves for all of eternity.
Wha-
Lots and lots of scribbles here
JOURNAl, FUCK, I WAS KIDDING, WOULD YOU PLEASE CALM DOWN
Okay. Better.
In which we take a trip into the way back machine, learning about how some green-hatted, not-quite-yet-failure of a mage started to hate himself.
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