Screw you. That's what he said to me. Those are two very simple words, but they can mean quite a lot. They can carry a tone of irritation, anger, hatred, many things. A lot of expressions are versatile like that. It's funny, actually. There are so many, too; our language is full of them, just like any other. Well, I'm ranting. I do apologize.

See, Peter had just stepped through the door; he hadn't even been home a minute. I said hi, and he said screw you. That simple. That's how our relationship works. There's not much give, there's only take. Well, for Peter, anyway. I try to be civil, but it doesn't always work. Hell, it almost never works. When Audrey still lived with us, Peter was a little better tempered, but he still had that mean streak in him. Now it's even worse. Sometimes I don't see him for days. Most of the time, he's locked up in the room of his for hours on end, smoking dope and playing chess with himself.

That's one of the weird things about him. Well, one of the weirder things. By looking at him, you can't tell that Peter is smart. He even looks dense, to most people. A lot of the time, he just looks stoned, though. He is smart, though; there's no denying that. If he tried, ol' Pete could get a degree in record time, but he never even graduated high school. Me, I'm still hanging in there, but only barely. Work kind of gets to you, y'know? Ah, well. I should survive.

Of course, that Peter told me to screw myself isn't anything out of the ordinary. I've come to expect it, now. I don't even know why I bother to acknowledge his existance anymore. I know he doesn't care at all about me. I guess he doesn't have time to care, really. Pete works two jobs. Yeah. One to support himself, and one to support his love of drugs and prostitutes. My brother the angel. Rich, isn't it?

I like to think I'm a little better off as far as my priorities go. Although I'm guilty of drinking coffee and daydreaming a whole lot, I can't afford to be inefficient with the time I have left over. I work hard; I don't waste myself. I only hope I can find myself a girlfriend I can get along with so I have an excuse to be out of the house and leave Pete to rot by himself for a few days. Maybe forever. Maybe it'll happen some day. Luck's never on my side, though, so I don't keep my hopes too high. Still, I keep my fingers crossed. Miracles have been known to happen, right? Yeah, sure.

Bah. Maybe God will send one of his big ol' lightning bolts and strike Peter down--hopefully while at work. Then again, I wouldn't mind the same. It'd be a favour to me one way or another. Sure is a reason to take up religion, don't you think? Nah, I don't think anything could make me take up religion. Except maybe enough money so that I didn't have to worry about whether or not I could eat for the next week, but the church isn't in that sort of business. Not for the common shmuck like me. No, sir.

Let's just pick up and leave. I tell myself that a whole hell of a lot. Yeah. Thing is, I have nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Grandparents don't want to have anything to do with me. Aunts and uncles may as well be on Mars. I hate them anyway. They were always insulting to me. Said I wouldn't amount to anything. I guess they were right. If I didn't have my little ball and chain smoking dope upstairs, though, maybe I could. Damn it, why do I bother? I should just kill someone and turn myself in. At least I'd eat in jail. If someone beat me to death, no big loss. Hmm. Consider that plan C.

I hate people with their whole sense of superiority. They think their problems are the centre of the world, that problems minor to them shouldn't matter. These kinds of people probably never fell into serious depression. Not like Audrey did. She was strong, Audrey. I'm pround to say she was my sister. Life threw her the worst of crap, and she still managed. I mean the worst. Think of anything and everything bad that could happen to an attractive twenty-year-old girl, and she went through it. I'm amazed she lasted as long as she did. I would have cracked a lot sooner than she did over a lot less. I think I already have, actually. I guess you just have to look at plan C to know that.

You know, I have thought about going to a psychiatrist. I'm sure one could help. Don't have the money, though. Never will. Come to think of it, I don't have the time, either. I don't have much of anything. Damn it.

I was walking outside yesterday, trying to clear my head. I guess it worked a little, but then it's hard to clear my head in any circumstance. I passed a lot of people. None in huge groups or anything, just people. Not one of them even looked at me. None were concerned, surprised, moved. None said hello--most of them looked like the lights were off upstairs, actually. Not stupid. Just not there. I wonder sometimes if I look the same way. Probably.

Plan A won't work. Peter's about the lowest form of life on the planet, but he's still family. Plan B I don't think I could go through with. Plan C, though, I could do. I've got the gun to do it with. I could just use a knife, if I want. Not hard to walk up to a guy and stab him in the gut. Or the eye. The groin. Anywhere.

Yeah, plan C sounds good. I hope the guy doesn't have too much family. IF he's like me, he won't mind too much. Actually, I think I'll go get a knife right now. Right from the drawer in the kitchen. Yeah....

Wish me luck.