Hate is shortly defined. It means anger upon another person, but that isn’t always the case. It could be jealousy, but it’s not. I just don’t like… her. There’s not a specific trait- a specific action. I just don’t like her overall.

Her beauty was one stab.
Her joyous laughter was another. Her intelligence was the third and in that way she sneers at me from a distance.

“Hi, Jessica,” she says. I feel her snotty self slowly slipping through the cracks of her beautiful, saint figure she installed for herself. In this figure, she has everyone in her grip. The football team buys her lunch, the basketball team walks her to classes, and girls go to her and ask for advice. It’s that easy for her. But somewhere between her perfect lifestyle she finds the time to greet me and say, “Hey, Jessica! You see what I’ve got and you don’t?” It’s just another slap in the face.

It was easy then- very easy to find out how to… take care of her. It was a sneaky move, easy and well planned. I had no trouble pulling it off. I must admit it was dirty too.

I passed those notes around in class, the kind of notes with gossip that was hurtful enough to start a bad reputation. She had a boyfriend that she’s been with for almost a year and a half. I knew for a fact how much she “loved” and cared for him. That gossip reached her boyfriend. Soon enough she was found in a bathroom stall crying her heart out and her friends were not by her side.

The look on her face, the sounds of her cries could make Blue Jays fall silent and could make me worried and- and smile at what I had gained from her loss.

Hate is short lived.