The Ones We Leave BehindMature

Isn't it strange, how the newspapers always read the same, "Man being blackmailed by debt collecters shoots self", or  "4 Year Old Girl Found Repeatedly Abused and Killed in Kawer Alley", 6 Year Old Children Found Alive in Prostitution Home, medicle examination to be conducted...".
Always, the same stories everday, till we grow numb to them, till they seem like stories of distant lands, of fiction, of something that "cannot ever happen to you" so its a story, and that's it. No one wants to do anythig about it, because , "What can we do, we're just human". But what can we do, when the men in whos hands we put our lives in, who wear thoes uniforms and badges to venerate thier bravery , are the ones who want to harm us the most? Inspector *** Shot Man after Threatened to Expose his Illicit Drug Trafficing Opperation." or "Chief Inspector Flees after Being Accused for the Rape of 15 year old...the killing of 27 year old...the kidnapping of two year old..."

 Its almost as if we've been turned into demons, into something inhuman, into something grotesque. As a race in all, we are the evil that plagues this damned world, and thoes who try to do what is good...Die.
I ignored it, I ignored it all. Then it happened to me. It was my story. Headline, cover news. Everyone was reading it, and nodding thier heads in shame while drinking thier morning coffee. "Boy Found By Sister Hanging From Shower Head" It was my face on the cover, as his sister. The one he left behind. The one he never told, the one he forgot about, the one for whom he left behnd a single word, "sorry" crumpled in his cold, dead hands..he died...he was gone. He left me reading headline after headline..."Bullicide....Depression..." They say they'll never truely fathom the workings of his mind...damn them all.

The human condition is disgusting...It just is. There is nothing else about it that adheres to me. Killing , dieing, screaming, paining...and yet we cling to life because of "hope"...hope...what a dillusion this..."hope." ...there is no hope. There is no life...

The gun is in my hand...the nozzel pressed against mmy temple.

What a sweet, cold metal...what a sweet sound...the click of a gun...what a beautiful sound...


The End

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