The ghosts that exert the most power in people__ lives-at least, the people I know__end to be of their own making, and consist of equal parts regret and old fears and just plain missing somebody.
But now it__ too late.And that__ why, right at this moment, I feel so much hate. Toward myself. I deserve to be on this list. Because if I hadn__ been so afraid of everyone else, I might have told Hannah that someone cared. And Hannah might still be alive.I pull my gaze back from the neon sign.
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But now it__ too late.And that__ why, right at this moment, I feel so much hate. Toward myself. I deserve to be on this list. Because if I hadn__ been so afraid of everyone else, I might have told Hannah that someone cared. And Hannah might still be alive.I pull my gaze back from the neon sign.
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This isn__ how things were supposed to happen. I was supposed to be me. Not this.
You have no idea what it__ like, knowing you__e going to die in an hour. Sixty short minutes are now the only things that separate you from the other side. From the country undiscovered by the living. From that inevitable end we all must face. Guess that__ what the whole death row thing is about, though. If you ask me now if I feel sorry for what I__e done, I__ have to tell you plainly the answer is no. I__ do it all again, given the opportunity. I__ kill them all. Over, and over, and over. The court-appointed psychiatrist described me as having a __evere antisocial personality disorder with excessive violent tendencies._ But I__ letting you know now I never stood out in a crowd. Never drew attention to myself. I was just a regular woman, one you__ see in the convenience store, and smile at politely. Who would have ever suspected what I was capable of? All those people. Those useless, useless people. I gave them a use. I was an artist. And my canvas of choice was the clean human skull.
Don't ever say you are sorry for "being caught in the moment". Because, at that moment, that is EXACTLY where you wanted to be.
You know," she murmured, "we're all heading straight to hell.""Yes," said Masako, giving her a bleak look. "It's like riding downhill with no brakes.""You mean, there's no way to stop?" "No, you stop all right - when you crash.
I spent so much time thinking about regret. Regret and its accompanying conviction that there is a perfect, placid life, one's own alternate existence, pristine and simple, existing in a neighboring reality in which certain turns in the road were never set upon. And it isn't true. Any of it. I knew that. I had learned it. But it is an irresistible fantasy, if only because it implies we have some control over our fates.