Most of the time, people only think of themselves. When they wake up, when they eat breakfast, when they watch TV, all they're thinking of is themselves. What will I do today? What will I eat? What will I watch? Never considering what another person may want to do, or eat, or watch. Only themselves. Sickeningly selfish people. But then sometimes, you'll find a person that thinks of others first. They'll pull over on the side of the road to see if that young man who's standing by his truck is okay. They'll pay for the carwash of the guy in line behind them. They'll leave quarters in the gumball machine for children to find. They'll look up at other people as they walk by each other, instead of staring at the ground as if everyone is invisible, smiling, saying hi, even. What is the point of going through life if you're not even going to enjoy it by sharing what you have with other people? There is a sense of pure jubilation that comes from giving out of charity and love. Talk to those around you. Listen to what they have to say. Surprise them with a present, or a dinner invitation, or even a hug. You will be a happier person if you treat other people with dignity and respect and love. You will be alone and sad and constantly under the crushing wave of depression if all you do is mope under your umbrella of self-pity and loathing, never reaching out of your comfort zone to give comfort to others in need. If it is indeed possible to be killed with kindness, then I must be cruel only to be kind, but it is my desire to make others happy, even when in my heart of hearts my suffering extends beyond my own known grasp. My bitterness towards my own self is, by my best efforts, kept walled behind a mask of smiles and good-will, shoved between the lines of eloquent words that flatter the ears and tickle the heart. And so it will stay, until my dying day.

My Story:

Rabbits, Whores, and Artists.

It has been five years since I added on to my story, but, dear readers, I have not forgotten you.

Enjoy chapter 17.