Jaazi: I'm trying something new with this oneshot. Also, I'm trying to get rid of a writer's block. Enjoy.
I hate you. Did you know that? Did I make that clear enough for you? I absolutely despise you!
Do you know what hate is? No, of course you don't. You're far too innocent and pure to know. I know what it is. I grew up with it. Hate is what I am.
Hate is a feeling that burns inside of you. It is like a never ending firestorm inside. It burns and it burns. It's like feeling a white hot liquid flow through your veins. It's a poison, a drug.
It kills you very slowly, but you never die. It gives you strength and anger and…insanity. I HATE you. Does it hurt you to know that? You always ask, why do I hate you so? I mock you every time you ask.
I'm feeling compassionate tonight, though. You want to know why I hate you? I'll tell you.
I hate your weakness. You can't stand up for yourself. Your whole philosophy of "live and let live" is weak. You are weak. You are pathetic. The thought of hurting someone makes your eyes tear up. You're whole appearance screams weak. I hate your weakness.
I hate your kindness. Everyone takes everything from you, asks everything from you. You always give them what they want with a smile. Even if you don't want to, you do as they ask just to see them happy. They don't care if you're happy. As long as they get what they want from you, they don't care. Your damned kindness compels you to do that. I hate your kindness.
I hate your smile. You constantly smile at everyone. You never smile at me. The entire world sees that pathetic smile. A smile of held back happiness. The smile of hidden sadness. The smile of acceptance for something that should be shunned. The smile that arrives when I am not there. I hate your smile.
I hate your eyes. Your eyes that look like glimmering emeralds in a sacred tomb. Those eyes that fill with that awful curiosity when in that school. Those eyes dulled with fear when I'm around, but gleam when I'm not. Those eyes reveal your emotions plainly for anyone to see. Only weak idiots reveal their emotions. I hate your eyes.
I hate your blood. Blood is supposed to be filling when I drink it in. It is supposed to be sweet, delicious, and hot. Oh so hot going down my throat. Your blood is sweeter than any. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth afterwards. It does not fill me with contentment, it does not fill me with anything at all. Your blood leaves me cold. I hate your blood.
I hate your hair. Your hair shines like the rarest of silver that not even pharaohs seemed to have in excess. It shines of the forbidden. Soft as silk spun by the finest of silkworms. So pathetically frail and valuable. Yet another symbol of your weakness. Hair that you take hours to brush, takes your attention away. Away from serving me like the pathetic little weakling that you are. Like the slave that you are. I hate your hair.
I hate your hands. Your hands are small enough to fit into mine. Your hands are as soft as a noble's daughter's hands would be. They are too frail to stop my blows. Too frail to protect you from anything. The complete opposite from my large calloused hands that could break anything with a simple blow. No, your hands care for things. They give gentle soothing touches to everything they touch. The only times I feel those hands on me is when you try to keep my fists away from your unprotected self. Useless hands. I hate your hands.
I hate your lips. Effeminate and rosy like a pampered princess. Those lips that curl down in a frown when I'm around. Those lips that are always coated with blood you cough up after my little "lessons." Those lips that curl upwards in a smile when you read or are happy. But always a frown when with me. I hate your lips.
I hate your skin. It is as pale as a lotus flower from the palace gardens…and just as soft and delicate. It is supple beneath my clenched fists. It bruises easily. Black and blue marks stand out starkly on it. It flushes red when you receive the praise and adulation of your fan club members at your school. I only ever see it black and blue. I hate your skin.
I hate your tears. I hate that they appear and won't leave. They fog up your eyes, dulling the luminous emeralds. They stain your pale skin and pour freely, mingling with your bloody marks. You always have tears when I'm with you. I hate your tears.
I hate your voice. It sounds like the precious and rare nightingale the pharaoh's lucky child would have to sing him to sleep. You always hum a tune while cleaning. It always drips with kindness as you spew honey-glazed words to your friends. Always dulcet while you sing when you think you're alone. The voice that always emits pain filled whimpers and grief-stricken moans when I'm with you. I hate your voice.
I hate many things. Hate is the only thing I know. I hate you. I hate the fact that you are my light. I hate that cursed Pharaoh for binding me to this fate. I hate that I always fail. I hate that you always foil my plans. I hate that you can feel.
The hate I have for the Pharaoh is intense. It drives me to do anything to defeat him. It's my adrenaline. It's my stimulant. It drives me insane. The hate I have for you…it slows me. It weakens me. I loath this hate for you. This hate for you chases me into madness. Not the insanity I know, no, a different kind of madness. A madness I have no control over. A hatred and madness that blinds me and numbs the senses.
I know nothing but hate. I've never known anything except hate. Nothing but hate exists for me. What I hate the most…the one thing that I hate above all others, is that I know that this hate I feel for you is not hate. But hate is all that I know. This foreign…thing that I suffer from is different than the hate for the Pharaoh.
Hate is all I know. This must be hate. It feels like hate. It hurts like hate. It makes me do the same things hate makes me do. There's nothing else this could be.
I hate you.
Jaazi: I'm sure you can all guess who's speaking and who the speaker is talking about.
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