It's not an easy thing to get over.

Abandonment. I feel like I'm being punished. Being punished for what I am, what I've always been. It's not as simple as it may seem.

Maria.
Mom.

There's never enough time with those you truly care about. Taken from me before I really had a chance to know her. And my very conception, that of an antagonist. By default, I am hated. Disgusting. Repulsive. Evil.

What am I? My eyes scanning my open palms, searching for answers that aren't there. I thought I was figuring it out, I felt like I was so close, so very close to becoming something good, something pure something I...

Something I'm not...

I'm afraid to face myself. It's taxing, just being the way I am. I may not be Mobian, but I feel like I am. How am I truly any different? Besides the obvious, I still breathe, I still think, I still feel.

I still feel...

My head drops, eyes closing as my cheeks bury themselves in my gloved hands. I'm so tired. Physically and mentally exhausted at all times. Drained.
Haven't slept in two days. As much as I try, my head just won't shut up. Just a moment's peace is all I ask, just long enough to rest, to temporary escape this world. Though the prospect of being stuck alone in my head is just as, if not more terrifying, in many ways. I have nightmares.

Nightmares of me. Nightmares of the world being the way it is.

I'm tired.

My fingers curl without me telling them to. Hands make fists. Vision is blinding white.

Hatred. No matter how hard I try, I'm still the bad guy, right? I'm still the cause of everything wrong with the world.

The words "it's not you, it's me" ring though my head. Bullshit. I hate them. I hate you for saying them. I hate the world for being the way it is.

I'm disgusted. Annoyed. Angry. Disillusioned. Pissed.

What are you but my destruction? How convenient that you don't want to be. You're nothing.
What is humanity? A bunch of liars, thieves and cowards. I once heard that we're cattle. That's not the case – we're given too much credit in this instance. We're not cattle. Cattle doesn't destroy itself. Cattle don't destroy each other to get ahead.
This race is something else entirely. Something more sinister. Something less worthy of being in line to be consumed and more something that destroys itself in order to get ahead.

At least I get it. At least I understand what we really are.

In times like this, I think of entropy, and I admire it. Pigs fighting over who gets to roll in the shit. Pigs destroying one another, hungry and chewing through bone.

You can't dissuade me. You're a liar if you try.

Entropy is the best that ever happened to us. To our species.

I sit alone in my apartment and I smile. I think about it. It all becomes so clear, so real, so important to me.
I get it. I get it better than any of you ever have.

I stand, laughing, sobbing, the world crashing down on me. It makes too much sense. It's all so clear and I don't want it to be.
A laugh. A big joke.

So clear to me now. So real. Breath pulls in a huge glob of snot from my sinuses, down my throat. Sonic is an asshole. Sonic wants to drain you of everything you are, and this is what you want? Failure? Self hatred? All because I'm not supposed to be what you want?

Lesson learned and lesson taught. It all becomes so clear. Just you wait.

Self-destruction is only the beginning for your kind, your species, who and what you are in general. My laughter cannot be controlled. It's one of those moments where everything is broken and nothing can be fixed.

I'm vomiting blood on my comforter. The comforter you gave me.

Sullied pieces of land shift away from each other and I think of you. Amy Rose.
With your new husband. The one who denied you, made you feel like shit, hurt you, destroyed you. I tried, tried so desperately to fix you after the fact and yet it all meant nothing.

I haven't eaten in three days, and the blood tells the story that I have.

My own body is a liar. My own body is a traitor. I laugh to myself, and this is how it all begins.

-

"I'm sorry," she says, but I have no sympathy for her. "I wish I could take it back," but what's done is already done.

How desperately she struggles with the rope. How hard she cries for her fallen lover. I wanted to feel it, to experience it. His life giving way to my tightening hands. His eyes rolling back in his head. Is this what you loved, Amy? Is this what you wanted?
My face closing in on his. Sucking in his very last breath. She can't move, and neither can he. My body tingles as I fall forward.

Darkness. What I am. What I've always been.

Lost in myself.

The world fades in around me, with my own hysterical laughter. She's crying, you're crying so desperately, begging me to stop, but it's too late.

"Shadow, please!" you scream, your voice tearing its way through your vocal chords. "Shadow, stop!"

Sonic's face, blackened and bruised. I made sure he felt, experienced every last second of the remainder of his life. His eyes bulging out of his skull, rolling back, nothing but whites. His face red and purple, past the point of no return.

"What are you?!" she screams. "WHO ARE YOU?!"

I cry, because I can't help it. This whirlwind of emotion overwhelming me. Fear. Anger. Sadness. Hated. Love.
Empty. I am empty. I feel nothing.

Wiping the drool off my chin with my forearm I stop just in time for him to cling desperately to live. His every breath wheezing through his throat, tearing through his esophagus. I look down at him with disgust. A laugh escapes my lips that I don't exactly mean.

Stand tall above him, legs straddling his useless form, I turn away. I step down from the bed. Amy is still screaming, crying, begging. I walk through the door and consider what this existence entails.

Entropy.

None of this matters, does it? Nothing I do or say makes any real difference in the grand scheme of things. We all decay, degrade, decompose. I laugh, because it's better than cryiong as I make my way through the living room and into the garage.

I feel empty as I pick up the jerrycan of gasoline I brought just for the occasion. I hate myself as a grin spreads across my face and I make my way through the living room in the opposite direction. The same three words echoing off the corners of my mind, telling me what to do, encouraging me as I walk through the doorway to the bedroom again.

Sonic is vomiting off the side of the bed as Amy screams and cries and desperately tries to comfort him, to hold him, to cuddle him, but her bonds get in the way of that, don't that, don't they?

"Was it worth it?" I ask, as I start to pour a line of gas along the foot of the bed. Neither of them answers. Sonic struggles with his vocal chords as Amy cries, begs for mercy, but there is none to be had from me. I step up onto the bed and drench them both.

"It's okay," I tell them. "You're just prolonging the inevitable. So am I."

The can is empty and the screams grow louder. Sonic's eyes tell me he hates me, but I know he always has.

"You wanted – no, needed a bad guy. A villain. An evil doer. I've been that by default since my very conception. Since I first existed and up until now. You expected this much of me, and now, this is what you get."

I sit down between them, and I hold up the book of matches. I rip a strip of paper with a sulfur tip from the side. I place the tip against the striker strip and fold the paper cover against itself. Pulling the match free from its prison, I release a flame more beautiful and pure than I've ever seen.

"I am darkness," I say aloud. "Please allow me to shine some light on our pathetic existence."

Dropping the match, the entire bed erupts in flame.

From within the destruction, I watch.
From within the destruction, I laugh.

The world around us is suffering, the world around us is pain and anguish, and I've officially brought this to the forefront.

The shadows from the fire dance around us like natives praying for rain. The screams drown out the cries emitting from my throat.

Let this last forever. The truest thing I've done.

As we burn, I can only wonder to myself as I wonder of the world around me.

Is any of this worth it?