RebelTango

P.S. If she keeps this up, she'll kill herself, whether she's trying to or not.  Pretty soon, you'll realize this and decide you'd rather make her hate you, than have to live with not trying to save her.   You'll watch her sleep and listen to her breathe, and you will want to cry because she's so perfect.  At some point that night, you'll lose your nerve. You might not be brave enough to let her hate you. Every day might hurt her. You might be selfish in keeping her alive. But I'll kill you if you don't try.  

Do not vote for me.  I am too young, and you need a wise-man, steeped in tradition, not a warrior.  Do not vote for me, because I am terrifying.  I will change your world, and that is a discomfort.  I will alter your routine and cut passages through the mountains that block your minds, sending winding train tracks of iron between ideas.  I will send your souls on an exodus from the everyday mediocrity, and lead you to fertile soil beyond.  Some of you will die.  So do not vote for me. You do not need me to lead you, because you are comfortable, invincible, untouchable, unsinkable.  To deviate from what you know would be a risk.  It would be

Hey. It's me, you.  So, you're graduating middle school.  You got accepted to LaSalle Academy.  Congrats. Things are gonna get rough.  Pretty soon,  you'll be in high school.  I know you're excited.  I know you wanted to go to LaSalle for years.  Mom wanted you to.  Grandpa wanted you to, and that's why Mom wanted it.  You're never going to really talk to your friends again.     At LaSalle, you'll learn who you are.  You might not like it.  You'll have friends who hurt themselves, and friends who do dr

 The worst moment of my life was spent on a Friday afternoon, staring at a computer screen in my principal's office.  Mr. Kavanagh and I were busy watching the security footage of the hallway just outside my homeroom class, which was not so coincidentally the last place I had ever seen my portfolio. Standing behind Mr. Kavanagh's desk and leaning over to better see the small window, I couldn't help but wonder why the video was in color.  On television, security tapes were always black and white and on VHS, but my school had everything set up digitally, with months of  footage saved.  I appreciated our technology for a moment, but it didn't

When the government fell, she had been the only one left standing.  Her ethics as a senator had been so great as to have never created her a single enemy among the insurgents, and for that, her life was spared. Survivor's guilt is a powerful destroyer of someone's soul. Five years later, and the sensation, the twenty three year old woman senator who had won over the nation with a charming smile and a knack for embarrassing the more corrupt politicians, was unrecognizable as a cold, impenetrable twenty eight year old. As the last remaining member of government who held any significant position of power after the attack, she had taken over i

The forensic evidence left at the crime scenes was completely useless. The size eight footprints lead to a dead end. The sneakers with that particular tread were far to popular to help narrow down the search. The DNA, recovered from under the nails of the victims, wasn't in a single database. Nor were the fingerprints, though there were many, mostly on the throats of the corpses, accompanied by horrific bruising. The investigators only had two real leads.  The deep gashes across the backs of the strangled bodies contained the first lead, bits of leather which were eventually traced back to a whip made in Italy. But there were seven