A/N: I do not own the character Tate Langdon - I wish I did because Evan Peters is quite the stud.
I prepare for the noble war. I am alone in this world, and I will never find someone as remotely fucked up as me to share my equally miserable life with. So what's the point of having a life if I can't share it?
It's not like love has been painted in pastels on a canvas sheet for me to admire; a cock-sucking whore for a mother and a waste-of-space father who showed more affection towards his co-workers then to his family. If I've ever seen love it's been portrayed on TV, and even that shit's weak.
I'll burn it to ground and watch the smoke curl up in the sky, mimicking the smile that will expand on my face. It'll be that genuine smile no one has seen except for Adelaide, and fuck it if anyone else should see it other than her because god dammit, if I've felt any sort of love it's for my sister, and my brother as well. I'll burn it for her, for Beau, and for all the other miserable sons a bitches that ever walked through those halls and thought about doing it themselves but just didn't have the guts.
I am a string of run-on sentences and if anyone dares to pause me I'll gut them. I'm so sick of all this pain welling up inside me and I just can't fucking breathe anymore. Anger has found shelter in my heart and it's burning so white hot that everything I touch melts. It's better to burn out then to fade away, so says Kurt, and I'll be damned if I fade into this black and white timeline that I don't even fit into.
I snort the devil's dandruff because that's where I find sanity, and I load those motherfuckers with bullets, and I will become the hero of this twisted fairy tale. I'll set the fucker on fire and watch him dance within the flames, and I'll leave without a second glance because he's not worth my time.
I'll ask them if they believe in God, because I don't, and if they do, then maybe they'll be saved. And if they don't respond, I'll respond for them with a bullet to the head. They want it, they want to die, and they'll thank me for it later. Ask me how I know this and I'll shoot you in the head as well.
As I stomp through the streets towards that stupid fucking bank, I come across a patch of violets growing in the flowerbed outside someone's house. I pause, look at the dark flower, and for a second I think of going back. Shoving the guns back under my bed, giving my mother a hug, praying to God for forgiveness for my malevolent thoughts.
And then I turn around and set the world on fire.