Hater

He was angry. Every noise that any human being made was driving him up the wall. Any noise that came from a single person felt as if it was an affront to his very core. Everybody and everything was set on destroying his mood and his day. Just like yesterday, and the day before. He couldn't begin to hope for a good mood to come his way. Not today, probably not tomorrow, probably never again, for the rest of his life.

Because, he wanted it that way.

He wanted it that way, not because he wanted to be walled up and defensive, actually he required and longed for love as much as the next person. He needed the hate, and the headache and the exhaustion of having to interact with other members of the human race because, if he didn't hate it. He would be passive about it.

Choosing to love would be too fickle, you can't deeply love each and every mundane activity of every day life. Eventually that leads to simply liking it, and if you just like it, then it becomes tolerable. Tolerable is an itch you don't scratch, yet it still eats away at your skin. But as long as he hated his every moment, he felt very alive.

Most people were spending their whole lives trying to become happy in order to feel alive. While he was on a roller-coaster ride of hatred and loathing. The deeper it seeded inside him. The more his blood electrified and the rush of his existence exhilarated him.

It wasn't perfect, it kept him alone, overly opinionated while being under educated. You need other people in your life if you're really going to learn anything. He was too angry to learn.

But not too angry to live.