I drove home from the deserts outside Twentynine Palms.

I felt an eerie confidence I never felt before.

I was always a fucked up child. I never listened to my parents. I would never play with toys or go outside.

I would always kick back, read books, and cut myself.

My mom once saw me cut myself. She brought me to the psychiatrist.

I remember him telling me, "This is not normal. You're not normal."

"Who hurt you, Yuri?"

I never felt hurt. I wasn't hurt. I hate people who asked who hurt me. Even worse was people who told me I don't belong here. I should off myself.

I was so hurt by these comments, I dreamed of killing those who said them. Then I realized I would pay for it in the end. So I shut my mouth and didn't talk to anyone.

Nobody would know how fucked up I am.

I like to imagine things. How I would be if I were normal. I'd be a normal girl living a happy life. I wouldn't chop myself just to see how much it bleeds.

I understand deep down this isn't want Sayori would've wanted.

Sayori could've have gotten better.

Actually, nevermind. She probably would've killed herself, anyways.

I hate to be the bad guy. But I just wanted our story to have a happy ending.

I feel like the world has turned and left me here. I feel ashamed there's just emptiness.

This is not what Sayori wanted. This is not what Sayori wanted.

My conscience fades in at certain times for a few minutes. I push it down.

I only wanted to give her a happy ending.

A few hours later, I meet Natsuki at the Literature Club.

"What were you doing all day?" Nat asked.

"Um... housework... gotta keep a house clean, you know?"

She reads Parfait Girls. I read for a bit with her.

"Manga is pretty cool, isn't it?" I ask her.

"What? You always hated manga!"

"Well, I may not hate it so much anymore..."

At this moment, rage builds in my chest and stomach.

I process in my mind everything she's done to me. She's been so mean, shitting on everything I do for poems. She told everyone I cut myself.

I may as well cut her.

I want her to die quickly and painlessly, however.

So I just stab her and run off.

I drop the knife in the trash and run to a nearby supply closet. I laugh. Her blood is on my hands. I smear it on my face and laugh.

This never felt so good!

But this can't go on.

So with a little water in my purse, I clean my face.