I'm just an animal looking for a home

Journal Entry

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Note:  The only changes to this entry are minor corrections to grammar, punctuation, formatting, and spelling.  I’ve also removed any last names which appeared, except in the case of teachers.

With every thought of Cameron that ventures into my consciousness, I feel a pulse of pure, irrational hatred surge through me.  The very image of he and Maile being together both makes me experience a dreadful, agonizing pang of sadness, and an uprising of uncontrolled rage, the likes of which never before felt by mortals;  of that, I am sure.  The sinews of my heart snap and tear even now as I recall the events of this very day.  The beginning of the pain today arrived with the vision of Cameron and Maile walking toward Cameron’s car, laughing, as if they knew that the very smiles on their faces rent my very soul.  As the vision left my anger-clouded mind, I slowly calmed down, as a ship does after riding a storm out.  My agony lurked at the fringes of my consciousness until nearly two hours later, when I myself had arrived home to the house adjacent to Maile’s.  Her very house, the sight of which had previously been the source of such joy, tore at the fabric of my being.  After a short length of time had passed, I proceeded to a window that’s pane revealed to me Cameron’s car leaving Maile’s house.  I felt great anger at the very hint of Cameron’s existence, but, at the same time, a flood of relief came over me with the knowledge that Cameron had gone home, and Maile was no longer in his company.  For several hours I entertained the thought of calling Maile, and finding temporary solace from the unceasing pain that pervaded my very essence, but all hopes of even temporary comfort were lost when I beheld a scene that seemed to cause my agony to attain previously unreached heights.  I saw, from my position at the window, Cameron’s car return to Maile’s house.  My first speculation was that my previous sighting of the vehicle had been a temporary stop at Maile’s house, allowing her to change clothes and the like, and this was Cameron returning her to her house.  My other hypothesis was that Cameron and Maile had arranged a date, and the former was returning for the latter.  Both of my theories were incorrect, however, for my next observation of the car revealed it opening, and Cameron’s younger brother emerged.  The unthinkable truth dawned upon me as Cameron’s brother disappeared into Maile’s house and soon thereafter returned with a dripping Cameron, still wet from swimming.  He had spent the entire afternoon with Maile.  My insurmountable torture grew as I beheld Cameron’s car depart without Cameron, bearing only his brother and the unseen driver.  Nearly ten minutes had passed when I saw Cameron speed away on his bicycle.  My whole body was trembling with the dual anger/sadness that racked it cruelly.  I was unsure whether tears or irrational violence would release me from this Hell.  Still now, as I write this nearly eleven hours later, I am experiencing the soul-tearing pain.  The image of Cameron and Maile kissing plagues me.  My imagination continues to show me the infinite string of situations that Cameron and Maile could have been in.  But even as I write this, my inner self being cruelly tortured, I don’t blame Maile for my anguish.  My only hatred is for Cameron; for he that destroyed my dreams, my life, and my happiness.

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Author: mitcharf

vegan, curmudgeon, animal lover, feminist, agnostic, cat whisperer, bookworm, hermit, Red Sox fan, Cthulhu enthusiast, softball player, man-about-town

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