December 4
I stopped caring about what Knuckles does to me. Is that bad?
December 6
" 'The things you're looking for, Montag, are in the world, but the only way the average chap will ever see ninety-nine percent of them is in a book. Don't ask for guarantees. And don't looked to be saved by any one thing, person, machine, or library. Do your own bit of saving, and if you drown, at least die knowing you were heading for shore.' "
-Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury
I love this quote! And, yes, I actually have time to read now.
December 10
Knuckles took an electric razor and shaved my arms. I haven't seen my skin in a while, so I was surprised at the grayish-pink coloring of it. Then, he took a black sharpie and wrote the words "useless" and "stupid" wherever he could fit them. I'm washing the words off with soap at the sink as I write, scrubbing at them with the side of the soap that has the brand name written on it (it's a brand new bar) so that it'll come off faster. The black sharpie is starting to blend into my veins.
I'm scared.
What if that means I'm really useless and stupid?
What if that means surviving is for naught?
December 11
When I think of Knuckles nowadays, I think that he is the master and I am the servant. No. I am below a servant. I serve, but I am not a servant. I am treated worse than the master's dog. I am the slave. I must watch the good life pass me by, while serving the good life to my master, and I must not want it, I must not taste it, I must not feel it. Only when I am part of the master's pleasure do I feel it unfeelingly, and I submit without question. I am the slave that is below the servant, overworked and underpaid and never complaining, who eats less than the dog, whose philosophy matters not without his master, whose life is worthless except to please his master. When I do good, I am left alone and not hurt, but when I am bad, I must be punished, and I must accept the punishment without tears or cries of pain. I must take it. Because that is what a slave does.
"I am madness maddened…" –Ray Bradbury
December 12
I am indifferent to the pain of his beatings, the smell of his breath when he breathes on my face. Sometimes, I get drunk myself so that I won't feel his blows.
I'm so sad, but I cannot do anything. Perhaps I am sad because I am powerless.
Or, perhaps, I am powerless because I am sad.
December 13
I have lived a good life, so there is no need to go on living. Someday, I will kill my pride and my spirit that is Sonic, and I will become a husk. A husk that will not hurt because I cannot defend myself against him, a husk that will not be forced to drink high proof and vomit blood from his stomach, a husk that will not care if his life is over, because his life was over the day he accepted Knuckles as a partner.
A husk that will not hurt because he lost his virginity to someone he doesn't even love.
Tears stain this page like my guilt, and blood runs down my back. What have I done? What have I done?
Sonic's Commentary
Can I burn these pages? Please? Where's the incinerator?
Shadow's Commentary
If only I could've helped you, Sonic. I would've done anything to stop those thoughts you had. I wish tears didn't stain the page. Oh, Sonic, you don't deserve to cry!