Hello! This idea sort of came to me, here's a small first bit. I'm not really sure how long this will be, I think through the barricade. It's going to be...angst beyond angst. Be warned. So please, please leave reviews-comments, praise, criticism, ideas-because I'm not exactly sure what this will turn into. Thanks for reading!
-Marseillaise
Le 21 Février 1832
Apollo-
You just told me to go home, that I was worthless, drunk, a failure. I'm fairly certain you despise me. I always let you down, after all. All I ever talk about is your revolution failing, and you hate me because of it. That's okay. I just wanted to write this down, on paper, even if I never have the courage to say any of this to your face. It just feels better letting it out somehow. That's why I normally drink, so that I don't feel so bad, you know. Anyway, here. As much as you despise and detest me, I actually hate myself quite more. I hate my pessimism, cynical thinking, and unbelief. Before I met all of you, I seriously considered suicide multiple times. Drinking myself to death, poison, blades, I had all of it figured out. I still have the little knives and I still have the scars, Apollo. It was the better option, and there are times I almost wish I had taken it. But then, there's you. I want to be you. You with your faith in the cause, and optimism, and passion. Your faith soars, Apollo, you soar like the Greek god Apollo, carrying the sun across the sky. And I love to watch it soar. I am content to sit in my corner and watch the faith soar in you, the passion that rules you filling you until it overflows and spills into the others. But it won't spill into me, because you hate me, hate all that I am. I hate me too, but I just wish you wouldn't. Because I cannot express what I feel, and even less expect you to have any sympathy. After all, thousands of people starve every day, that's what you're trying to prevent. And I want to believe it will work, I really do. But no matter how much you speak of a bright future, I will still be me, drunkard and failure. I wish I could help people, that I could do what you do. But that isn't me. I'm worthless, and you don't deserve to have me even sit on the floor by your feet. Sorry for bothering and boring you with my problems, on the off chance I decide to hand this to you. Most of all, sorry for being me.
-R