When I was in 6th grade, I got off the bus one day at my bus stop, and out of nowhere, a high school girl drove up next to me, got out of her car, and repeatedly punched me in the face. Literally for no reason.
I never found out who the girl was, but I spent years hoping and wishing that she got what was coming to her– namely, a miserable existence.
But now that I’m older, wiser, and have undergone years of therapy, I no longer hope she’s miserable.
Because misery can, for the most part, be treated and alleviated.
So I hope she’s ugly.
Like, painful-to-look-at ugly.
No amount of meds or therapy will help her out of THAT.