Still a Kid.
A spoilt brat, that’s what I’ve been all my life. When things don’t go my way, I’ll scream until they do. That was when I was a kid. Nowadays, I think I can handle it more calmly.
But, provoke me enough, and I’ll turn into a monster. I’m a bit surprised that I still had it with me, the voice, I mean. The voice I acquire at that agitated state scares myself sometimes. It’s not my normal voice anymore, no matter how I try to force that voice out now, it’s just not there. It’s a scary voice, like what you’ll hear in those movies when people get possessed by the devil, that deep raucous, almost snarling voice, somewhat held back only by what’s little left of my conscience. That is, if you piss me off enough.
Not many has seen me in that state other than family members. By that, I mean those who stay with me; my parents and my brother. Even that, it doesn’t happen often. Only my mom can piss me off that bad.
Coupled by my teary, bloodshot eyes, it’s not a pretty sight. Make no mistake, the tears do not mean that I’m crying. It’s pure fury, m’dear. Pure fury.
It’s usually when I’m accused that I use that voice to fight back. Only when I know that I’m really innoccent and have nothing to be pinned with that I’ll be furious enough to have that voice. I guess my parents never noticed that. They think I’m still throwing tantrums like a kid.
I know things can’t be solved if I keep on shouting like that. It will just get messier. But at least I got some stuff off my chest. 
I should be quite ashamed that I’m still a monster, shouldn’t I?
