werewolf it seemed in the past, taking your suffering with a smile was very important, or at least having a stolid work ethic and not asking certain questions. people used to die all the time in movies and in grandparent's stories where they'd say something like...oh it isn't so bad, or one less for breakfast tomorrow i suppose. no one ever screamed out against it or questioned or said no fuck you telling me to be quiet or doing it for your sake when you're not even doing it for your sake. and yet, he realized, he didn't do those very things. he was quiet, he went to school even though he didn't really want to. and he was sad when his mother asked him how his day was - with her face red in the car as if she'd been crying, or at the very least, frustrated to the poing of a reddening face, blood rushing in all directions frantically from her heart - but he never screamed at her for her silence, or asked the questions that would make that face distort and never return. it seemed he half hated his life, and half hated the world. he only showed half disgust. on the one hand, he always felt it, but it was at the background of the various things he did each day, which oddly enough could be carried out with little thought and which composed the world he hated. of course, he'd mock himself for being so dramatic anyways. what right had he to hate the world so? if you were a war veteran or something well then people at least marginally understood the concept of why you would think their world - with their low stakes lives and pointless accruements, not to mention their taking for granted love which the veterans were often not capable of anymore - was stupid, or brought you no joy to participate in. but he didn't have any such excuse, and regular society would loathe him for thinking himself better than their everyday commitments. i mean what excuse did he have? an asshole dad and a sad mother? so did everyone else it seemed. 040520
FA113N Well I never was that. Always undignified 120722
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