I am angry nearly every day of my life.--Little Women

I leave the inn when I know I should stay. I should stay and take comfort in those who love me and are willing to endure my disheartened spirits in order to cheer me up: Amthy, Chryrie, even Alcar. But that?s not what I do, it?s not what I want to do. I need to get out, out out into the open air where maybe breathing won?t be so difficult with these constricting lungs. Maybe I?m afraid of crying in front of them, I don?t know. It?s not a wholly rational fear at the moment because when the cold night air touches my cheeks they remain dry.

I shouldn?t wander the streets of my city alone at night, especially in my condition. You see, I have been awake for over twenty-four hours, tirelessly searching the streets of RhyDin. To top that off, I have fought at least one fistfight in the Outback and my jaw is still throbbing, begging for sympathy. But most important: I am well on my way to being drunk. I have been drinking Irish whiskey all night, a very poor substitute for what it is I really want to taste on my lips.

Yet, as I told Des and Wyh earlier in the night, the result may be the same: I am dizzy. I contemplate returning to the Outback and letting someone, everyone, lay into me with punch after punch until I am a bloody, bruised mess. Endorphins will flood my body, then, and for a time I won?t feel as I do now. However, I turn my wanderlust feet away from the alley that leads to the building meant for brawling and let them direct me elsewhere through the dark streets.

Between my fingers rests a remaining piece of petunia, which I tore to pieces earlier. I cannot let it go. This light weight in my hand is just as heavy as the message I have pocketed: Resentment, anger?For Jewell.

I have to wonder, passing the street lamps?their light obscured by the tears just now stinging my eyes?by as I do, is resentment what I really cling to? The answer is so clear, so startlingly clear, that I actually gasp. Perhaps it is this gasp that draw the nearby man?s attention to me or maybe it is the way I look as I wander the streets at night: a bruised and lost apparition, skin glowing a faint silver, a red rose amidst my blue curls. He reaches out a hand to touch my arm, restrain me. It doesn?t even take a fully coherent though to freeze him in his place, ice shooting up from the ground to wrap him in its cruel embrace. I don?t even break my stride or my thought pattern.

I acknowledge that I am indeed resentful, that perhaps the sum total of who I am can be contained in those two words: resentment and anger. Perhaps this is all but a joke and I have merely taken it too far. But I am resentful. I still cling to my resentment of Alex at times because we couldn?t make things work. I resent Cher for choosing to leave this world, leave me. I resent Robin for tainting me. I resent Tommy for killing Skyler, Skyler for dying. But most of all, I resent myself. I resent not being able, capable, to prevent any of these bad things from happening and not being able to ever let go and move on.

I stop walking when I reach the water?s edge. It should not surprise me that I have come to the sea. Here, with the clouds obscuring the moon, it looks like the end of everything. I crouch down in the damp sand; the biting water coming up to lick at my slippered feet while the wind carries the salty spray (freezing as it is) against my face.

Whoever wrote my note got it wrong, I conclude. Tonight I am not angry. I am only depressed, for tonight I am simply out of energy.