It was like shooting a sitting duck.

 

Hi, my name is Evangelian (call me Eve), and I hate everything.

Absolutely, everything. Infact, I probably hate you. It's charming. I like it. I have a lot of friends. They all love me, and think the best of me, although I'm convinced that they're all ready to unleash a wicked backstabbing, and I don't expect anything less from them.

Call me a horrible person, but I was born hateful. I was born motherless, fatherless, and the only person that I knew loved me was a Scottish lady named Aileen. She was reaching her sixties, soft wrinkled skin cresting around her eyes everytime she smiled at me – which was often. She was a strong woman, with graying red hair always tied up in a tight bun. I would watch her as she cooked, and worked while growing up, and I noticed that her fingernails were always rough, dirty, ugly. Veins popped out, and a variety of shaped scares decorated her hands; and even with all that, they were still soft. She would often cup my face into her hands and tell me how beautiful I was. I hated when she did that, but my face would always surpress a smile, and I couldn't help hiding that fact that I was happy to at least know something about my parents. One of them had striking hazel eyes and a deadly set of red curly hair. I hated my curls to, no doubt. They always frizzed in the rain, and were impossible to work with. Only on dry sunny days was I able to actually enjoy them.

Aileen's name met, “the light of the sun”, and I often dreamt as a child that if there were a God, it would be exactly like her, with beautiful soft hands, and a wrinkle free face. However, as the years passed, my childish thoughts and ambitious (though they weren't great), turned into sour and feeble disregards. Here I was now, a solid lady of ninteen, with my parents striking features, and a hateful hearts towards anything that wasn't Aileen. I wasn't being totally sarcastic before, but I do actually have some friends. They're all hateful too, of course. I chase all the happy ones away.

“Ah. Miss Eve, care to elaborate on what I just said?” a bass tone broke through my thoughts, and my eyes shot directly to where it came from. I wasn't into the whole jumping startled reaction, so I let my eyes do the talking. It was my professor. I didn't remember his name, I was only a week into college, and I didn't particulary want to know his name either. One of those hateful characteristics I guess, “No thank you.”

He didn't bother atgonizing me, which I was glad for, not that he would of had much fun with it anyways. Everyone else in the class, for the most part, weren't even paying attention, and those that were didn't even catch on that the professor clued into the fact I wasn't paying attention and planned on toying with me. He gave me a look over his horn rimmed glasses and turned towards his black board, scribbling more words across the hard surface – something about ancient greece mythology.

I chewed on the top of my pen, my notebook in front of me, the fresh white lined sheets, not a single stroke written on them. I didn't even know what I was doing in college to be honest, so this class, for the most part, I felt had to part in trying to resolve that. Another hateful characteristic of mine is that I could care less about things that didn't interest me. So the next thirty mintues went by painfully slow, and I was the first out the door as soon as the bell signalled that the day was finished. I won't bother telling you what college I attend, because I, actually, don't know the name of it.

I reached my car relatively soon, and threw my bag and books in the back seat carelessly. It was an old car. A Toyota Echo. It had the smallest wheels and looked incredibly weird and unproportioned, but it was transportation, that I got for free, nonetheless. There was no real problems with it. It started up easily, and moved without fault. It got me home in a good amount of time, and I could smell supper waiting for me as I walked through the door. Aileen was there, in the kitchen, looking old and wise under the pathetic light. It didn't her much justice. She smiled at me as I passed the the threshold, and nudged her head to the table. It was routine for me to be home at this time, and sit at the small kitchen table, eating supper with Aileen. She always made good food, hinted with spices and yummy ingredients that were always forgien to the country we lived in. Nothing boring or bland.

She patted her hands on her apron and took it off before sitting, joining me for supper. She pulled her plate up close to her and bowed her head for a moment of silent thanksgiving to, a God, most likely. She believed in a God, and said that she tried to live her life the way this God would want her to, and it made me think that maybe believing in a God wasn't that bad; Aileen was a beautiful person, and if she reflected what God was like, then I'd like to meet this God someday.

I didn't think much more into it, and bowed my head as well, running some halfhearted thanks of my own in my head. I didn't believe in a God, but I did it for the sake of Aileen who had just lifted her own head up and glanced at me breifly before sticking her fork into what I assumed was curry – it definatly smelled like that. She chewed her first mouthful quietly, before clearing her throat; she did this just before she was about ready to talk to me, “How's school?”

I chewed on my own mouthful, and spoke through pauses, “It's fine.”

She nodded her head, quickly noting by my reaction that I wasn't enjoying it that much, “Made any friends?”

A pang of annoyance ran through me, but I batted it away with a swallow, “Nope. Not yet.”

She smirked faintly, trying to hide her amusement, and by the way she looked at me, I knew what was coming next, “Boys?”

I rolled my eyes quite openly at this. I shuffed another mouthful of food into my mouth, and decided to delay my answer. I didn't like people that way. I guess it's yet another hateful characteristic of mine. I think I had a crush on Newton once, a small freckled face boy. We were friends when I was five, and I would always dump sand down his trousers, or stick a snail down his shirt. I don't really remember having a crush on this boy, but Aileen always told me that boys would pick on the girls they liked. Although he never picked on me. I always just made him cry, so I guessed that rule of thumb applied to both genders. I tried not to laugh about that as I swallowed another mouthful of food. In all honesty though, I could rarely find a person I liked as a friend, let a lone a lover. I shook my head, and Aileen took that as a no.

“You know, love,” she had begun, “You really shouldn't be hateful so much. It's a bad look for you.”

I looked at her without saying anything as I continued eating. She had said things like that before, and I grew irraited and uncomfortable whenever she brought it up. I had scrapped the last spoonful of food in my mouth, and got up gingerly and placed my dishes in the sink. I played with the soapy water, eventually washing my plate and spoon, all the while, Aileen was behind me, eyeing my back, waiting for some kind of reply, which, of course, she wasn't getting. I had placed my dishes in the rack by now, and turned to her, “I'm going upstairs to do some homework. Call me if you need help.”

I went quickly, as Aileen looked back down at her food, defeated once again, but never broken. She was stubborn, and I knew we'd have the same attempt at conversation many more times in the future. I didn't like dishing out how I felt, mainly becasue I didn't know what I felt half the time, but also, I didn't know where it would lead me. My thoughts were doing just fine where they were, and even though they made me who I am today, I'd still rather keep them there. I didn't mind who I was, and I'd get crabby at whoever tried to make me different.

I sighed softly, reaching my room, slinking in, closing the door behind me. My books were still in the back seat of my car, and I had no motivation left in me for the day. Maybe tomorrow I'd do whatever homework needed to be done. I sat down hard on my bed, and fall back, arms sprawled out, looking at the swirling design on my ceiling. I tried to relate the swirls to some part of my life, and all I could come up with was that swirls were incredibly boring and I hated looking at them. I turned on my side, my arm falling over the side of my bed and my fingers brushed against a book. I didn't bother looking at the title. I just picked it up and read it,

“In the Hellenistic period, the Cynic philosophers said that the purpose of life is living a life of Virtue that agrees with Nature. Happiness depends upon being self-sufficient and master of one's mental attitude; suffering is consequence of false judgments of value, which cause negative emotions and a concomitant vicious character.

The Cynical life rejects conventional desires for wealth, power, health, and fame, by being free of the possessions acquired in pursuing the conventional. As reasoning creatures, people could achieve happiness via rigorous training, by living in a way natural to human beings. The world equally belongs to everyone, so suffering is caused by false judgments of what is valuable and what is worthless per the customs andconventions of society...”

I scoffed and threw the book to the floor again not even to bother to wonder where I would possibly get a book like that from; but I turned on my side and decided to sleep.

At six in the afternoon.

The End

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