The spirits guide to revenge.

The partial or total absence of light. 

The definition of darkness.  

The partial or total absence of emotion. 

The definition of my darkness

My entire world, apathetic to the darkness that swarms around me. Do they not feel what I feel? Are the others filled with the color and feeling that I lack? In some ways I would never be sure to know if I am the only one who sees the world this way. Considering that I too can dress the way they do, and I too can act and smile and laugh the same way. So I wonder, do they feel my thirst, my lust? Will they ever be able to recognize the thoughts and passion I put towards my desires. Would they recognize the countless minutes and hours. The excruciatingly painful “tick, tick tick” of the clock to my left? 

So now I wonder, do you feel that way? I know that you must know what i think because you are still here reading this letter as though it is speaking to you somehow. I know that you relate to the feeling of darkness, even though you are entirely aware of the bright lights that always shine above your head. I know that your leg won’t stop shaking below your desk as you read this. I know that your hands are awkwardly placed around this letter, your thumb gliding against its edge, a small cut at the tip of your thumb. I know that you are smiling to yourself, because this slit that would seem insignificant to any other eyes is the one ounce of feeling that you have received in days, or maybe weeks. You can’t remember the last time you were able to look down and see a pool of blood below your feet, your victim's body lying lifelessly below. It’s gray eyes seem to look into your soul as though they can see something that even you were never able to find. 

For some reason you now find yourself in a state of uncomfort, the room around you is beginning to be covered in the shadow that you know so well. You are alone, it’s only you and the now ripped up letter laying down on the floor. Or at least that's how it would seem to the untrained eye. But I know that you can see me, I know that you have sensed my presence, and that you can feel my fingers running up your back, my nails pushing deeply into your skin. I feel your goosebumps as soon as you realize my thrill. I know that this scares you. I know that you’re trying your best to keep your feet underneath you. And I know, that as I drain your soul from your throat that all you can think and feel and hear is darkness. Yet still I won’t stop, I won’t give up until I receive the same satisfaction that you always do. I want to hear your voice, shaking as you plead for me to spare your life. I wish you could see how blatantly pathetic you are as you beg, down on your knees with my fingers into your hair, yanking up your head so you’re forced to look at me. I look into your eyes, they’re a light blue but I can see what you try so hard to hide. I can see the lifeless gray eyes behind the color. I can see you searching for something in my own, your eyebrows dipping when you fail. 

This is when I realize we are not the same. Your body drops when I let go of your hair. A loud thud as your head hits the floor, I’m not like you. I can’t kill out of jealousy, I can’t kill for games. My goal was to make you feel the same way you made me. I wanted to see your lips quiver as you cried. I wanted you to die. It should've been easy, the hatred that I’ve held for you the past 10 years building up like my own personal time bomb, but i’m no murderer, and killing you would make me just like you. 

That’s what you wanted me to say right? You wanted me to let you run free, to let you walk away like nothing happened. It almost makes me want to laugh to myself, the pitiful hope shining in your eyes. I’ve thought about it for years now, memorizing your every move, watching as you damaged and degraded the others. Until finally it was my turn, it’s my turn to antagonize you, to make you weep and request mercy. You sadist, taking others pain as your own pleasure, taking my pain and turning it into your own excitement. 

Do you feel my fingers, lingering around your neck, the pressure beginning to get more and more noticeable? Can you feel your lungs slowly closing up, gasping for the final breath? Can you still see as your eyes roll back into your head? I remember this feeling, I know that when your body finally goes limp that you have given up hope in survival. You and I both know that this is your end. 

The feeling I have now is unimaginable, your gray eyes no longer able to hide behind the color are staring up at me. For a moment I almost think I see your fingers move but I know it’s just my imagination, but still instinctively I reach down and intertwine my own with yours. The gesture gives me a rush of memories, the image of you and I walking down the steep steps of my apartment, hands meshed together barely being able to keep our lips apart. The depiction disgusts me, the love I used to have for you now widely masked by hatred. You meant everything to me, and then I was dead. 

This was my job, my cliche last regret. As my hand slips away from yours my darkness is gone. My pain is gone, I can finally see again and I know that it’s my time to go. The surrounding light swallows me with ease taking me to the place I've forever longed for. I’m okay now, but let’s see if you can make it out of your own darkness.