[title cont: ...s, and the Confidence it crushes] Journal Entry 52: November 3
She told me to wear the cloak. She said it'd be cold out; it would cover most of me.
By the time I got back, there were bite marks and it was stained with both my and his blood. I had fought back, grabbing the butcher's knife my Grandfather had used to gut deer with. I ran out of the house, which was filled with blood.
I came back, panting. My mother didn't care. She quarantined me to my room and cried over the ruined cloak. She said I needed to be better with authority. She said I always do this. But I've never felt so threatened. This situation was different than the arguments I've gotten into with her; this was self-defense--it was life or death.
It's all useless, though: no justification will work. I'm a disappointment to my mother. I'm a disappointment to the whole town. I can't go to school without everyone staring. They know I committed murder that night: I let my grandmother die and I killed the Wolf. The court won't hear my side of it. Neither will my mother. They say I'm too young, too delicate. I'm not strong enough to fight back so that couldn't have been the case. I'm a fuck-up and I'm sorry. To you, Mom--I'm sorry you have to be embarrassed of me now--and to you, Grandma--it wasn't your time yet. And to you, Wolf. I'm sure you were a worthy being. If only I could've exchanged my lives with one of yours.
Created: Mar 22, 2012ravenmcasey Document Media