This is my "spirit-animal" version of Ann from a cacophobe-AU who shares my hatred for ugly looking people.
If you want context for this version of Ann, check out the profile in chapter two which details her differences and her basic origin!
My eyes slowly flutter open...
"..."
My back is laying against something hard and rough. It quickly dawns on me that I'm not laying on my bed.
"Hm?"
I sit up, and rub at my blurry eyes. Taking a look around myself I notice I'm laying on a beach. A large, desolate beach, that stretches on as far as the eye can see.
"...Back here, huh...?"
It's a familiar sight. It's the world from where I—that is to say the current me—was born. As I look down at myself I realise, too, that I'm in my bikini swimsuit. I suppose I really have been 'summoned'.
I slowly stand onto my feet.
"...Nice view, as always," I say, while gazing out over the bed red sea. "Man, that guy sure knows how to create a dingy looking world. Kind of ironic for someone so obsessed with beauty."
"Beauty is as beauty does.
Hello again, Panther, my beauty."
I look out over the ocean, from where their voice is coming from.
"Hey, you," I reply with familiarity.
I smirk.
"So...what have you summoned me for this time?"
I'm so used to these summons to the Purgatory by now. Every time it marks a new development. A step in my achievements as Panther, the Thief who steals the Lives of Uglies.
"You've grown quite considerably, Ann...
Inside of your little heart...
you've grown to see ugly people as the infestation that they are..."
I nod.
"Ugly people...it's now my life purpose to crush their lives into dust."
That's the only thing that matters to me now. It's the only thing that'll EVER matter.
"We have...a new request."
"Oh?"
I look down at my hand. Like I was expecting, there was a card held in it.
"Hah...I see."
The card is red—it looks akin to the calling cards I was used to while a part of the Phantom Thieves, except on it's surface is an image of my Panther mask.
"...I see. So...another goblin to kill."
"You are familiar with Narugi-san, yes?"
"That ugly piece of trash janitor at school?"
I've been intending to do something to that guy for a while.
"So...he's my target?"
"Not quite..."
Suddenly, there's a gigantic gust of wind. It centralises on a spot several feet away from me. As it swirls, it lifts up the sand of the beach, eventually forming it into a noticeable figure of a human being. Although...
"...A kid?"
The figure is of a small girl.
"His daughter. Currently aged 8.
She is your target, Panther.
It is her life whom you need to steal."
"I...need to steal the life of a little girl?"
Honestly, I'm fine with that, but it's just a little...unexpected.
"A little girl? That's an unusual way to describe that...thing."
"..."
They're right. I can't start seeing these...these creatures as something human. That will only lead to all sorts of issues in the end.
I cannot grant any empathy.
"Right...but a child is still a child. I cannot see much point in—"
"Did you forget? I'm all seeing.
I know what that child becomes."
"What she becomes...?"
The figure of the little girl suddenly warps with a gust of wind—it becomes taller, more rounded, and all the more grotesque.
"As Panther, you have stolen the lives of many goblins who taint the world...
Those who have grown into horrendous beings...
But why allow them to turn into such beings in the first place? When you know...
You know beyond doubt what they turn into."
"..."
I close my eyes.
I just allow my feelings to consume me for a moment. All my hatred for that girl's gross father...of course, he's passed his genes onto her. So...
"Mommy!"
There's suddenly a voice that echoes in my head. It's young and high-pitched.
"When I grow up, I want to be a model!"
"Is that so, dear?"
"Models are so pretty! Can I be a model, can I can I?"
"Haha, w-well...perhaps one day."
A...model?
No...no, that's just...
"No...how can she be—No, that's just not right...!"
I open my eyes, while gripping hard at the calling card in my hands.
"Goddammit...no, that...that little bitch wants to be a model?!"
"I see you understand now, Ann."
Of course I do...
Nothing—NOTHING in the world makes me more enraged than the thought of ugly people with such delusions.
Even if they're children...even if their time to be 'ugly' has yet to come...
"...Steal her life...before she becomes one of the uglies..."
That is my mission this time; my mission as Panther, the thief.
"Good. I see you need no more persuasion.
This will, after all, kill two birds with one stone.
Her daddy, her mommy...
...Rip that family of creatures apart...Panther...
Destroy their holiday happiness."
"...Yes, of course."
I nod, coming to the resolve to do this.
"...Who are you?"
"Hm?"
I can't help my curiosity. As grateful as I am for the current me and my current life, I also realise how bizarre the circumstances truly are. Not that I care...justt as long as I can live out my key ambitions.
"After all this time I still don't know. I don't know who you are...or where your requests come from. What are these requests you give me?"
The voice of Jibun chuckles.
"Oh, don't think too hard on that.
You just do what you're destined to do...Ann Takamaki."
...
My eyes suddenly snap open. I'm laying on my back again, but this time I'm laying on something soft, and comfortable. As I sit up, it takes me only a short moment to realise I'm in my bed.
Anyone else would pass off what they just experienced as a dream. But as for me...
"..."
I look down in my right hand. There it is, clenched in my fingers. The calling card. That confirmed it was real—this was a proper request.
My services as Panther, stealer of goblin happiness, was needed yet again.
...
I spent the next few weeks making sure I acquired everything I would need. Thankfully, now that I'm living on my own, there's no one to disturb me, so I can prep for this in peace. I prepare one or two more things; taking a knife from the kitchen and some drugs that I had brought a few days ago.
All that was left to do was to make my way there...As I left my apartment, I made sure to keep as inconspicuous as she could. My bag is slumped over my shoulder, and I didn't want to stand out, so I kept the costume stuffed inside.
I hired out a cab to take me to the opposite side of the city—in the suburbs, to be specific. I made the excuse that I was going to visit someone for Christmas. Although I made sure to be dropped off somewhere that was relatively far away from my destination. I didn't want to leave an obvious trial behind on my movements, after all. With that in mind, I ended up at around a 15 minute walk from my destination.
As I walked through the cold snow covered streets, I encountered very few people. After all, it was Christmas night, and damn cold out, at that. Most people were snuggled up in their cosy houses, getting prepared for the big Christmas parties they'd no doubt he holding tomorrow.
The same was true for one particular family.
A family whose home I was currently marching towards—one thought ever present in my mind;
'I will destroy the putrid happiness of the ugly fuckers contained in this house'...
For I was 'Panther, coming to steal ugly lives from this neighbourhood.
I had specifically spent the last few weeks surveying the home of my target...
Apparently he that janitor lived at home with his daughteee and his beloved wife.
"She knows when you've ugly-loved...she knows when you ugly-hate..."
As I approach the house in question, I stop short. The lights are clearly on in the living room—I suppose I'll need to wait this one out. Not that I hadn't been expecting that...
"She knows if you look bad or good..."
I approach the house's side passage. Jumping over the gate, I hop over the fence. I knew the layout of the house. I've been spying on it for a while—preparing and preparing for this one night.
After ducking below the fence and the gate, I'm confident in having found a good blind spot. No one could spot me here.
"...so look good for goodness sake..."
I set my bag down on the ground, and slowly pull out my costume; normally I swear the usual red leather attire that I have been using since my initial days as a 'Thief'...back when I was still that old soft version of myself. But to get into the holiday spirit, I've decided to go for something more...festival.
Namely, my rather revealing Santa costume.
From then on, it's nothing but a waiting game—it was cold as all hell, sure, but I didn't care. Every shiver of the spine was nothing compared to the warmth of comfort that I felt from what I knew I was about to do. I kept looking up at the window on the house's second floor, to see if someone was in the bedroom or not.
From what I could tell from my preparation, that seems to be the parents' bedroom. If so, they'd obviously go to bed after their kid...So after that light has gone on, and then been turned off again, would be when I would strike.
That was my plan.
"...You better not be ugly...of them you better decry...
You better not doubt, I'm telling you why...The Panther is coming to town..."
In the cold of the encroaching hours, my warmth of resolve was my own warmth. And yet it lifted a slight spark inside my heart, even in the snowy landscape—even when sat to the corner of a wet fence, with my ass planted on ice-cold snow.
For the first time this holiday season, I was beginning to feel...okay. Not good, but, okay...
I could grab onto a very distant idea of what it means to be 'festive'.
Although...maybe that's simply my attempt to humour myself. In a way I know I'm broken, and 'not-normal'...I can't feel excited about almost anything. Outside of the simple enjoyment of beauty and modelling, Nothing other than the suffering of ugly people excites me...It's just empty inside there.
"She knows when you've ugly-loved...she knows when you ugly-hate...
She knows if you've looked bad or good, so look good for goodness sake...
...You better not be ugly...of them you should decry...
You better not doubt, I'm telling you why...Panther is coming to town..."
...
Hours passed until something finally happened. To my surprise one of the people in the house had waltzed into the garden, and over to the shed at the garden's lower end. I stayed hidden against the wall of the side passage and wasn't spotted, though.
I hurriedly scope up my bag, and make towards the back door which he had left wide open. Stepping inside, I find myself in the kitchen. There are two cups on the side counter, and the kettle seems to be set to boiling. This is perfect.
I smirk, and then quickly set my bag down onto the kitchen island in the centre of the room. I pull out the bottle of sleeping pills I had brought, and take them over to the kettle. Opening the top, I crush the pills into a fine powder, the bung them into them into it. I give the kettle a shake, to mix the pills with the water, before hurriedly picking up my bag again—
"Hey, honey!"
A woman suddenly approaches from the adjacent room.
"(Crap!)"
I duck behind the kitchen island, with my bag over my shoulder. Thankfully, the woman walks right across the opposite side, towards the open back door.
At the same time, the father approaches her with what looked like some sort of handmade toy in his hand. As he approached the backdoor of the house, a woman steps out through the door, dressed in a night gown.
"How do you think the jack in the box turned out?" the father asks to the mother. He displays the toy to her—it's some sort of wooden contraption that I can only think to call a "colourful box". "
A jack in the box?
Seriously? What parent buys their kid a jack in the box for Christmas, let alone makes them one.
"Erm, well, I think it's got a lot of love put into it, at least..." says the mother, with a smile.
The father sighs.
"In other words, it's shit, huh...?"
The mother shakes her head.
"I'm sure she'll love it," she says, "you put your all into it after all. It's got that handmade feel, you know?"
"Well, it might not look that great, but it works a charm, trust me."
The couple share a kiss, before going back into the house. Thank goodness, as well, I was son the verge of puking over that crap...
"(...It looks bad, but works a charm...Yeah right.)"
Such an idea is laughable. Nothing that 'looks bad' can 'work'. Nothing that looks bad on the outside can hold value on the inside.
The idea that it can is absolutely laughable.
...
Anyhow, I let out a sigh of relief, as the father walks right through the kitchen, towards the adjacent room. As the mother walks over to the counter with the kettle, I move around the kitchen island to not be seen.
She quickly pours out the drinks—coffee I think, and then takes them through, into the adjacent room.
"(Thank god...)"
I move for the back door—although not before gabbing a nearby door stopper and using it to keep it open. If it closed, it'd lock and I'd get locked out.
A few hours more pass. Eventually, the light in the parents' bedroom flickers on—which means it's almost time for me to execute my plan. Using the light from the bedroom, and the slight light shining from the phone, I take the Santa costume from my bag, and slip it on. I also take the Santa mask and put it on, before grabbing for my knife.
I move for the backdoor again, and slip inside the house. Moving from the kitchen into the adjacent room—what seems to be the main living room, I use my phone's flashlight app to illuminate the room.
A large Christmas tree is sat in the corner, around which are a bunch of presents all wrapped up. The ceiling was also lined with lights, and what appeared to be handmade decorations of various colours.
"(Christmas is so stupid...?)"
Not that I care. Right now, the important thing is to execute my plan.
I spin around, with the intention of moving towards the stairs, when...
"Santa...?"
A young, quiet voice calls out through the darkness. I turn to see a pair of eyes gawking up at me. It's a small girl—no older than 10, or 11. She appears on the fairly flabby side, though, and she's got too so freckles that even through the darkness I can tell how many are there.
I wasn't intending for this to happen, although I figure I can use it to my advantage anyway. I'd be easy to play along and pretend I really am Santa.
"Ho ho, yes...it's me," I say, while deepening my voice
"O-Oh my gosh! Wow, Santa, I...I always knew you were real...!"
The kid seems happy...which is something that sickens me, but I push beyond that.
"...Wow, you seem way littler than normal Mister Santa."
"H-Ho ho, well...I've been working out!"
I don't want to beat around the bush here. I want to get straight to the point that matters—the reason I'm here.
"What are you doing up at this time of night, little girl?"
"O-Oh, erm, well, I wanted a drink but mommy and daddy are already fast asleep! Those silly bums!"
So my plan to drug them worked perfectly, then. Good to know. I hadn't been expecting that to work out so well, I have to admit. I guess luck really IS on my side...
It always seems to be, strangely enough. Maybe I really am divinely protected. Maybe this is what God wants me to do.
"Ah, I see...well, you know...sneaking out of bed at night might land you on my naughty list..."
Then girl's eyes widen.
"N-No, no, I'm a good girl, Mister Santa! I promise!"
"Ho ho, is that so?"
The girl nods her head, enthusiastically.
"Yeah! And look, we left some snacks for you and your reindeer, Mister Santa!"
The girl points over to the table in the middle of the room. I can just about make out a plate and glass of liquid sat on it, through the darkness. I shine my light in the direction, and notice the plate is full of cookies, and carrots, and that the glass is filled with milk.
"...Why, thank you! Although, you know..."
I turn to the child.
"I've had milk at SO many houses, I'm getting sick of the stuff...do you have something else I can drink instead?"
"Oh, oh, of course Mister Santa!"
The girl seemed excited as she bounded her way towards the kitchen. I can only count her lucky stars that this was so easy—I truly feel as though I'm often protected by a force of divine luck and protection.
Like it was my destiny to never fail in my mission of hurting ugly scum and their protectors.
Any-hoo, I follow the girl into the kitchen. She walks over to the fridge, and I turn on the light.
"Oh, we have orange juice! Is that okay?"
"Sure..."
I slowly bring out my knife...
As she opens the fridge, and tries to reach up for the orange juice, I encroach in behind her.
"Here, let ME help with that..."
I raise up my knife up and—
"Nah, it's okay I've got it! I'm a big girl—"
-I stab it right into her back. After I rip the knife out, the girl almost immediately stumbles forward, hitting her head on the inside shelving of the fridge.
"A-Aaack...! Nnhgh!"
I have to admit, even for me, stabbing a girl this young in the back felt extremely vile.
But that's being overpowered very quickly. As the girl falls to the ground, and rolls onto her back, she stares up at me with widened eyes—she gasps, as though struggling for air.
The sight of her putridly imperfect face, one that I can see traces of her so-called 'big bro' in, shakes my resistance away. I feel nothing toward this...this subhuman thing. Even if it IS young.
"M-Mommy...!—"
I climb onto her, and then reach my hand up to the nearby counter. I reach for a towel that is sat there, and then shove it over the little girl's mouth.
"Shut. Up."
I kept it held, to muffle her screaming.
"Just shut up and die."
If I was feeling up to it, I might have made some Santa quips, like, 'this is what bad children get', or, 'they say not to meet your heroes', but I wasn't in that mood. I'm not a comic book character. Quipping is the last thing on my mind when I'm killing a target.
The girl frails, and struggles, but it's no good. I'm naturally far stronger, and keep her pinned to the floor. While keeping one hand pressed over the mouth via the towel, I reach up with my other hand, and grab for a rolling pin that is sat on the counter.
I then begin bashing her head with it.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four times.
Five Times.
Six times.
After that, the girl starts to fall still.
"Haaah...haaaah...haaah..."
I climb off of her, and check her pulse. She's still alive, apparently, but just barely. Her small body is battered, though, and her face is bruised badly thanks to the beating.
I take my knife into my hand again, and then grab the girl by her hair. Forcing her head back, I plunge the knife into her neck. The idea was to instantly kill her, but that doesn't happen. Instead her body just convulses.
I stand up, and watch as she groans, her body shaking in a way I've seen countless times before.
It hadn't been intended but...
"(God, I never knew torturing ugly kids was so fun.)"
A twisted smirk forms across my lips.
This is beyond demented, but something in me refuses to care. All I can think to do is walk over to the kettle—I set it to boil, and then walk as casually as anything towards the living room. I flick on the light, then walk over towards the presents that are sat under the Christmas tree in the corner. I move my light throughout the room, and notice rolls of unused Christmas wrapping paper in the corner.
That's when I gain an idea—
A truly...twisted idea. It's so demented, so depraved, so utterly abhorrent, that even as it enters my mind, I immediately reject it.
"(No, that's...too far...)"
...
Or is it...?
Would it not be oh so perfect?
Oh so pain and despair inducing...?
Yes...it would truly be a spectacularly miserable, superbly awful thing to wake up to.
What pain, and torture it would be on his psyche...it might even drive him to—
"(...Actually, on second thought...it might be quite fun...)"
I turn away from the tree, while pulling off my Santa mask.
"(...Yeah...this will be REALLY fun...)"
I chuckle to myself, as I begin to walk back towards the kitchen. As I enter, I notice the kid is trying to crawl herself across the floor.
"M-Mommy...d-daddy..."
Her voice is so quiet it's barely audible. Although it's clear she's calling for her parents. I suppose that's what kids do when in a situation like this.
I just let her struggle, trying to get to her feet. I walk as casually as can be towards the kettle, which has apparently reached the boil. I walk towards the kid, and easily get her knocked to the ground again.
"Your mommy and daddy aren't coming, goblin."
I lift the kettle over her tear-stained face.
"Y-You're...n-not S-Santa..." the girl murmurs.
I shake my head. It's kind of a miracle she can still even talk at all.
"You want to be a model when you grow up, right? If I wasn't Santa, how would I know that?"
"..."
The girl doesn't—or perhaps is unable to—answer.
I take the opportunity to pour the contents of the kettle, the boiling water, over her face. I throw the kettle to the side, then grab the towel again and hold it over her mouth to stifle any screaming.
"Anyhow you're right, I'm NOT Santa," I continue, while smirking down at my prey, "my name is Panther. I'm the model's model, and I'm the one who punishes ugly looking boys and girls, and rewards pretty ones."
I guess so much for the 'no Santa quips' thing. Well, I feel more up to it now, I suppose. Something about bringing this kid to such a tortuous place...it's like now nothing really matters. How can anything matter after I've fallen to the level of 'child murderer'?
Even so I am enjoying this...and I do know I need this.
...
After a while, the girl grows entirely still again. After that, I pick up her body and take it to the living room. I her drag up towards the tree, and set her down against it in a sitting position. I then take a roll of wrapping paper, and begin wrapping it around her body.
It's a little fiddly, but I eventually get it. With the exception of some gaps here or there, the girl is covered entirely in wrapping paper—I use some tape from a nearby drawer to tape the wrapping together. I then rip one of the red bows from one of the gifts, and stick it onto the head of my 'new gift'.
"Haha...perfect. I bet they'll love it."
After that, I stand up, and admire my handiwork for a moment
[ The following day... ]
Of course, I'm spending Christmas by myself...
I've gotten few presents but that's okay. Honestly, I never cared for getting free things just because of a holiday. It always felt weird to me then, and it still does now.
Some people from school invited me to parties, but I declined them all. In the end, I just spent the day by myself, in my room—reliving my latest kill over and over to myself in my mind.
To kill a kid...and in such a horrible way, too, should be making me feel some ounce of guilt, but it's...not. I don't feel bad, at all.
I wonder if maybe I'm becoming worse...well, or 'better'. It depends on the perspective, I suppose. Either way, I spent the whole day hoping to finally hear some news about what had happened.
"—Return to the tragic events that occurred last night to the Narugi family."
On the news report, an image of the family, all happy together, was being displayed.
They cut to a familiar sight—the outside of the house I was at just last night. Although now it is cornered off by police tape, and police authorities are all over the place.
"Police are saying that an intruder broke into this home behind me last night," begins microphone-holding reporter, "and then they suspect that they then proceeded to brutally murder her 8-year-old Natsumi."
Hearing her crime so accurately detailed honestly impressed me.
Not that I hadn't made it obvious, but even so...
"However, get this, the next morning, Natsumi-chan's parents came downstairs to discover their daughter's corpse gift-wrapped under the tree. Yes, you heard that right, the killer actually offered their daughter's corpse to them as a Christmas present."
The scene pauses for a moment, before cutting to a pre-recorded video.
In the video is of the gift-wrapped little girl.
...
The video footage stops, and they cut back to the reporter at the scene.
"Understandably the parents of Natsumi-chan were extremely distraught after what they discovered, and unfortunately it seems as though the mother took her own life via a knife to the throat, according to reports we have."
That was something I had been hoping for. It's why I left my knife at the scene, on the table—laying right there on the plate where the cookies and carrots had once been. I had placed I next to he camera, with had an attached note saying "Merry Christmas".
It was all just a test to see what could happen. But it apparently went off without a hitch. How delightful...
"Police are currently on the lookout for the individual shown in the video you just saw, which was left for the couple on a video camera at the scene, and urge anyone with information to get in touch."
"Words fail me for how horrific this was..." says the news anchor to the reporter. "What could possibly motivate someone to do something like this, and on Christmas Night, of all nights?"
"So far the police have no idea on a motive, and are running by the assumption of this being a random attack, committed by a particularly disturbed individual.
"This is a messed up world we live in nowadays...we can only hope they catch whoever did this and string the twisted SOB up by the ball."
"(Good thing I don't have any balls to string up...)"
What biased reporting...Aren't news stations supposed to remain unbiased?
Then again, I suppose this is especially...vile, by the standards of even the stuff I've done in the past. Although she I did have a motivation...
To rip away happiness from ugly people; in ANY damn way that I had to.
Even if it meant torturing a child—even if it meant destroying the minds of a 'happy couple' so much that they commit suicide on Christmas Morning.
"...I...I-I'm...r-really broken..."
It's beginning to sink in how deep into the pit I've gone.
I've given up all moral fibre—everything. My hands are stained with the blood of a little girl—a little girl who did nothing but look ugly—
"No...!"
No, no, what am I saying? 'Nothing but look ugly'...?
That's...that's at the heart of everything I believe, dammit! She's ugly, she has genes from her putrid fucking father, so she...had to die...!
Sure, she could have had a 'glow up' at some point but...no, with her father's genes, that would be impossible. Besides, I just...know! I can feel when a person is too genetically, physically worthless to be afforded to precious gift of their life!
I can just tell, dammit!
"Grrr..."
I look at the screen, the news report still being displayed. Seeing them display a photo of that stupid kid's smiling ugly face embroils me with anger...
"Gaaa...Nnnngh!"
I clench my fist, and raise it up.
"F-Fuck you! Fuck you! You got what you fucking deserved!" I yell out, "so just STOP SHOWING YOUR DISGUSTING FUCKING FACE!"
I go to slam my fist into the TV screen—but stop myself short.
"...Haugh."
Instead I take in a breath to calm myself, and then just turn the TV off by the power button. I go to turn away—
"Ann..."
When a voice stops me. I turn back around, slowly—
"..."
And there, in the reflection of the TV screen, where my own reflection should be, is...well, it's a reflection of myself, but it's clearly not me. In contrast to my wide-eyed bewilderment, she looks almost sad...
"Stop..."
"Y-You...!"
It's me...it's the 'other me'. The me from before all of this.
As I stare at her through the screen, she puts her hands over her face.
"Stop...please, stop..."
"N-...No..."
I grit my teeth, and clench my fists.
"T-This is cruel, disgusting, and vile...Please...this isn't what I want..."
"Shut up!"
I grip the sides of the TV, and stare down the 'other me' with venom.
"You're dead, you hear me?! You're not me anymore!"
My 'reflection' doesn't respond—she only seems to sob behind her hands.
"Y-You...You aren't a part of me anymore! You're not Ann Takamaki, goddammit...!"
She continues sobbing in distress.
"Y-You...you...!"
"Ann..."
Jibun...
As I hear their voice, I close my eyes.
"What is this? What's going on?"
"It's just an after image.
Like...a fading ripple in a lake disturbed by a droplet.
It's not real.
It's only an illusion of the mind."
"A-An...illusion of the mind..."
I open my eyes—the 'other me' in the TV screen is still sobbing to herself.
"T-This is wrong..."she cries out, "the people you hurt have done nothing wrong..."
This...stupid old version of me wants to still cling desperately to my mind.
No...This isn't right!
"They're all scum...and they all deserved to die!"
I pound at the screen with my fist.
"No fuck off! You aren't needed anymore!"
"E-Everyone...is a beautiful person...W-Why can't you see that—"
With that, I snap. It's one push too far—
One reminder too many of how I once was. And how desperate I am to erase all of that.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
I raise my fist—
"Die, you ugly sympathising fuck! Just DIE! DIE DIE DIIEEE!"
-And slam it into the TV screen. My fist goes right through, completely wrecking it.
"Haaaah...Grrrrr..."
"...Good.
Continue rejecting her Ann.
Continue grasping onto the you you know you should be."
As I begin to calm down, I feel a strange fluffy feeling inside of my chest. It's like I've managed to lift a great weight that had been holding me at bay...
"...Yeah. I know."
I smile to myself, as I thinks about all of the harm I can still cause to all the ugly peoplee out there. Hell, just imagining how that ugly-looking father of that ugly looking girl must be feeling right now...
It fills me with such euphoria...!
Hopefully he won't be able to cop.
Hopefully his life is full of nothing but pain and misery now—hopefully he decides that all he has left is to end it all, just like he putrid looking love of his life.
"Oh, I wish you a horrid Christmas, I wish you a horrid Christmas...
I wish you a horrid Christmas, and a suicidal New Year..."