My Name Is –

This was originally for the Valentine's Day competition. The information said to write about love, so I did. My character is 'Love', who stopped believing in itself long ago.

Edit: Oh my goodyness! Thank you to everyone who read this. I've never gotten anywhere in a competition before.... (:

Another edit: I'm now expanding this storyline, and I'm excited about where it's going to take us!

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2. – Hate

              I am nobody.

Do you hate me yet? No? Well then I haven’t done my job right, have I?

             Life sucks, you know that? And Love is such a prat. She walks around depressed all the frickin’ time.

             “No one wants me. No one needs me any more. No one believes in me.” Oh boo hoo. I am soooo sorry.

             At least Love gets a day dedicated to her. All I get is prats like you cheering on prats like her – she doesn’t even know how to do her job right.

             Let’s pick up where Love left off, shall we? With that fighting couple, Justin and Christine. Love has just walked away feeling all (and make no mistake, this is the stupidest expression I’ve ever used) lovey-dovey.

             “I’m going to inspire the humans!” she says to me as she passes. “I’m going to change the world, make the world a magical place, just for this one day!”

            “You’re a prat,” I reply, and I smile. When Love leaves, then it is my turn to have some fun.

           Okay, so Justin has just said, “we were supposed to be friends. I’d rather make out with this other rich prat because hate is so frickin’ awesome man!” (Or words to that effect.) I breathe a little through my nose, to influence Christine.

            And she doesn’t disappoint. She smacks Justin, so hard that the sound reverberates round for at least a few seconds.

           “Go die!” she screams.

           Yeah, I know. I am a genius. Seriously, I could have put Shakespeare out of business. If I’d had it my way, you know how Romeo and Juliet would have ended? Juliet would have hooked up with that Paris guy, and Tybalt, the symbol of violence and all, would have killed everyone. Oh, glorious, glorious. Blood and death… Anyway. I’m getting off track here.

           Christine turns and stumbles away, right past me, and I give her a little smile. Right now I’m a teenage guy, about, I don’t know, maybe seventeen? I couldn’t hurt a fly. Oh, you think I can? Good. At least you’ve learned not to underestimate me.

          Love trapped me in this stinking body for two hundred years as a punishment after I caused World War One… Ah, the Great War. It was great, wasn’t it? She goes it would be so funny if girls fell in love with me. Me being so ‘hawt’ and all. Seriously, the amount of films that have been made about me, it is just not funny. All those stupid romantic comedies, a homage to Love, all base their stupid male leads on me. You know how…

         Oh, sorry. Track. Off. You want to hear about me in the fight, right? Of course you do. You’re human!

        “Christine! I’m sorry!” Justin tries again

         “I hate you! And hate is so frickin’ awesome man!” she replies. You get the drill. Words to that effect, yada yada yada. “I’m going to spread the hate. I’m going to make you feel like I feel. You will never see love again and that stupid prat Love is going to die!” (I hear what I want to hear, okay? You got a problem with that? You do? Well, shut up or else my fist will meet your face. You do not want me taking a personal interest in you… trust me. It is almost as bad as Love taking an interest.)

            “Stop interfering with my story, Hate!”

           I groan and turn around. Love is standing in front of me, with her hands on her hips. She is inhabiting a typical body for her – a beautiful girl, who probably is right out of the pages of a fashion magazine. She has curling black hair which falls to her hips, and piercing blue eyes. Her skin is light brown, so I'm guessing the girl whose body she's stolen is half Indian, half Spanish maybe.

            “No wonder you’re considered a weakness,” I shrug. “You focus too much on me.”

            “I will hunt you down and kill you –”

           “Temper, temper,” I say lightly. “Not very lovey of you. Happy Valentine’s Day,” I add. Love’s expression is hilarious: contorted with rage, mouth twisted, eyes narrowed into slits. She’s still mad because the high ups named her day after her brother. Honestly – Love is so petty.

           Not like me. All that prattiness about Love being blind? Yeah right. She purposely puts the stupidest couples together for her own amusement, and most normal people have no hope in hell of finding her. She’s weak. Pathetic. No wonder the divorce rate is so high.

           Me, on the other hand. I know how to do my job right. Aren’t you glad? You are, aren’t you. Don’t disagree. Trust dear old Hate-ey. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of me. I’ll turn you against everything you’ve ever loved.

           There’s a reason why there’s so much of me, you know. I’m simply stronger than poor old Love.

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