Rage No one told me to stop. No one told me to turn back. They knew I was at my limit. I couldn't help but smirk as the younger gazed after me in confusion. Obviously new to this school, they hadn't seen a breakdown. Idiots. Never seen a psychopath before? Never seen someone so broken they couldn't breathe? Never seen someone so torn their fists pummelled the wall until blood shed? Whatever. My skin feels too hot to care. I want to damage something. But I can't hurt anyone. So I walk out of school and into the back alley around the outside. Pain ricochetted through my bones as the raw and blood coated flesh slammed into the concrete. Sweat dribbled down my throat and low shudders jolted through me as I steadily imprinted my anger into the rocks. Maybe the fist marks would fossilise over the years and be used as guidelines for the future generation so they can point out the murderers. Lets face it, thats what I will end up as, a criminal. I'll just lose control and kill someone like before. Then I will be stuck somewhere safer for society, somewhere where I am not a threat. Part of me just wants to scratch at the surface of today until it cries out the bad times. Even in my thoughts I am a monster.