When I was younger, I liked to be bad. I always played rough with other kids, and I found a special entertainment in them getting hurt. I didn't outright hurt them, I learned it early that adults would scold one for that. So just played rough, and waited until someone would get hurt, and if no one did, I would accidentaly run into people hard, so that they would.

When there wasn't anyone to hurt, I would break thing. Dropping a plate here, stepping on the flower there. Thinking back, I would often be called clumsy, when in fact, I did it all on purpose and just played it as though it were an accident.

Other times, I would hurt myself. Not for fun. Not out of boredom. Not for a special wicked and twisted entertainment. Not even for pain itself.

I always wanted to destroy. I wanted everything gone. During that time, I could only think of what was in front of me and how to break it down to its last atom, how to shatter it completly beyond repair.

As I got older, that feeling remained, but my world of view didn't. I started to learn how big the world is, how many people live on this wrecked planet, and how many things there are to destroy. I had to be careful obviously, I wasn't a clumsy child anymore, I was growing up. I wasn't comforted anymore when I broke something. I remember the time when my father yelled at me for dropping a plate, and I loved it. I loved being one to blame, I loved shattering the comfort of my home, I loved breaking peace. Maybe love isn't the right word. I was more like amazed by it all.

There is something in my core that desperately wants to burn this world down. I want to watch as terror strikes the Earth and it succumbs to pain and agony and crumbles down. And when there is nother left, I will destroy myself, slowly, patiently, and beautifully. Destruction is an art not many are capable of learning, and I have captured it in its most immaculate form.


© anaelmallory