Dear Diary,

It's been a week since I've wrote in you. I thought I should have trashed you but my gut kept telling me different. So, what do I write about? I've just basically spoke my mind in the last entry, what's the point of making another one? To tell you the great things that's happened today? I laugh at my sense of humor. "Great things"? Is that such a thing for me? According to some freshman I overheard today in the shadows, I have no "feelings" or "a heart" and all I do is "ruin people's lives".

Am I really that much like a dictator? Am I really that heartless and cruel? How many people have I hurt? Hundreds? These questions keep haunting me at night as I toss and turn. Who am I anyway? What burned inside of me that made me so horrible? How come I felt like spies where always watching me and if I didn't do something right...I was going to be laughed at; ruined.

Yesterday, I had this survey to fill out. I was just thinking whatever as I filled them out but the questions come back to me. One of them read, "What song do you think resembles your life most?" I just put something about happiness and stuff but as Coldplay's "Spies" sings in the backround...I keep thinking. "That's my life. That's me."

The verses "I awake to see no one is free" and "Cos they're all spies, they're all spies." Whatever happened to happy life I lead before I turned evil? What was my childhood like? What sent this burning rage inside of me that made me so...like me now? I think so much and nothing comes to mind. The happy thoughts are drowned out by the ways of today. But wait...I can remember one memory so clearly...the one that made me angry and the one that made me cry for days.

It was the worst day of my life, as I recall. I was 7. I was playing in the local playground, happy as can be. I remember a group of not too older guys and girls come up to me. They were smirking and snickering. I, the clueless one, didn't know what was going on until a strong, dry hand came up to me and pushed me down into the dirt. My hands and knees stung; a cut came on my leg. I was covered in dirt. By now, I was really angry, and jumped back up and looked them straight in the eye.

"Why'd you do that? You bullies!" I shouted at them, they looked amused. I was just a game, a toy, a puppet. I wasn't anything to them but just a fun, afterschool game. I controlled my rage as I watched one of them, a tall girl walk from the back of the group to the front with a frown on her face. It was obvious she was the leader.

She snorted. "Bullies eh? That's us. And we're going to get whatever we want because we're not nice like you innocent little children." Her hand came up and then slapped my face. I fell down again, grasping my cheek. It stung something horrible. "Nice guys finish last, remember that. We're just teaching you a lesson."

Then they all surrounded me and kicked me and punched me and I felt helpless. I screamed sometimes but they ordered me to be quiet. Everything hurt on my body and when I finally couldn't fight back I collapsed on the ground, they laughed and cackled and were proud as if they did something great. After a few minutes, they retreated with joy and evil smiles on their faces. I laid on my side, as some tears fell down upon my dirty face. I felt horrible. I felt destroyed.

But the words kept coming back to me "Nice guys finish last." I decided that day, I couldn't be nice anymore. I had to be mean like that, or else they would just push me down again. They were just teaching me a lesson and it made it seem like they were doing me a favor. A few days after using my new attitude, I had followers, a rep and respect from all. I felt good about myself. I felt like I was a leader. I was the one who was going to push people down, not the other way around.

After a couple of years, though, I started feeling horrible just like that day. Why did I feel like I was in distress when I was on top? Then, I realized that nice guys finish first and I been living my life the wrong way. I was just living in like a lie. I was now so into my evilness, I couldn't get back out. It wasn't like they said it would be like.

I had swallowed myself in, locked myself in and I couldn't get out as much as I tried. If I was nice, people thought I was just crazy. My reputation had took me too far and was now controlling me. Life as I knew it was a nightmare. I wasn't me. But if I started acting differently it would be the end to all my power and even I did act all kind and nice people wouldn't believe me.

Now I have to end this; I'm getting a headache.

Goodbye,

Kim Carlisle

Yup, guess what guys? I've made this into a chapter story on the-n and here too! Hope you enjoy it!

Allie