27 November, 2001 - 3:05 a.m.

I hate drunk drivers.

I hate the way that they think it's okay to drink, and then drive.

I hate the way that they get into that car, keys in hand, knowing full well what the consequences could be.

I hate the people that they were with, for not seeing the signs of a drunken murderer.

I hate the way that they're still walking around and perhaps regretting - or perhaps not - their actions.

I hate the way that I have to now live without my brother because some drunk fuck drove straight into his car.

I hate the fact that I can be so selfish as to harbour all this hatred.

I hate myself for not being able to look past this after an entire year.

I hate myself for being weak.