Dear Agony,
   
                      Stop calling me Poetry Boy! I can't tell you how much it makes me want to smack that smug little smile I know you have off of your face!

I AM NOT SOME DRAMA NERD WHO LOVES METAPHORS JESUS CHRIST! I'm trying to be serious here and you're just being a prick. 

Please don't tell me how to live my life, one of the reasons I started writing to you was because I knew you were someone who was incapable of feeling things like pity and sympathy. I won't apologise for saying that, you pissed me off so I'll piss you off. 

Now we're even. 

I'm prepared to get to know you, even if you are a complete and utter dick at times. I'd like to know everything about you, just like you're going to learn a lot about me. You're going to learn that after I was sent home from the war, I couldn't find work and no one seemed willing to employ some freak that had saved their country. I guess I'm a bit bitter about that. 

I eventually couldn't afford anything - food was a few soft crackers a day and I had to go to the public toilets in the city centre to fill up litre bottles since my water had been shut off. It came to a point where I could no longer afford my rent, and had been mercilessly kicked onto the streets with the few belongings I had that hadn't been sold. They soon got stolen. All of it, apart from my handgun slotted securely in the folds of my tattered clothing. Life just seemed to get worse, and I couldn't even ask my sister for help as she was away on a business trip and I didn't want to bother her. I'd always been a burden to her. 

So I lived on the streets for weeks. My health deteriorated at the same rate that I became clothed in dirt and sweat. I tried to beg. No one would help me. No one even cast a glance in my direction. I was invisible. That may be why when I thought of the idea of storming into a bank and demanding they give me everything. At the time I thought it was because I needed the money that bad, but now I see it was that I wanted to find out if people would finally at least cast me a glance while I wave a gun around. 

I got more than some glances.

It was all going well until the police arrived. I should've expected it, especially since all I knew about robbing banks came from Hollywood, yet I was still somehow surprised. It was then that my powers unveiled themselves for the first time. They whispered to me sweet nothings of murder and curled around the trembling officers, the darkness begging me to obliterate every human there.  

So I did. 

I can't write anymore. I can hear the shadows calling me and if I keep this pen to the paper I don't think I'll be able to block them out any longer. I think I'll need to ask Banner if he can up the dosage of the drugs that help suppress them.

From,

           Aaron.

 P.S If you don't tell me a fact about yourself in every letter I'm going to go down to that prison and demand the answers for myself.