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Betrayal Jan. 13, 2002 ] 1:29 AM I hate being hurt and angry at the same time. All that roiling mass of hurt, hatred, anger, frustration. All red and black and pulsing and your heart is laced into a corset which constricts and squeezes and chokes the pain out yet renders it immobile in its motion. It tastes of red and bitter-hot flashes. It grinds in acrid harshness sour and stale. Your tongue is numb because it seems coated with the white sludge you get when the body is ill. What creates more tension is the fact that there is no way to assuage your desire to choke the life out of the creature that hurt you. No way to let loose the roar of the fire that hurts you hurts you and slake your bloodthirst to loosen the threads that injure you to fury. The target is unreachable, unassailable. Unable to be found. A mess of emotions that steals all desire to steel yourself and crawl out of the muck that you have been pushed into. I hate him. I hate situations like this. But most of all I despise him. And I despise myself for being such a weakling. wax ] wane