In my sleep, I found myself standing in three places. I don't recognize them, nor do I know where you could find them. I only know they are... uncomfortable. First place was pain. Light which shone through your closed eyelids, burning through your retinas into your brain, continuously forcing you to see only white and nothing at the same time; an endless mass of screams coming from everywhere, all of the voices filled with hatred and terror, denying me rest and safety; pain, just pain, thorough and through, every limb, every muscle, every organ, every thought, drowning everlasting agony, everything just hurts. No matter how much I suffer, no matter how many times I call out for help, the light denies me guidance, the screams make my shouts like whispers, and the pain just continues. Second place was sorrow. My face was stuck looking at a black, infinite wall. No matter what I would try, I couldn't look away. Not that I wanted to. An oppressive presence was behind me. I didn't know
A small amount of annoyance by G0D0FSHAD0WS, literature
Literature
A small amount of annoyance
I hate people.
I hate people, because they're annoying.
I hate people, because they want stuff.
I hate people, because they don't tell me what they want.
They lie, they betray, they make up stuff that's not true.
They exist.
Why do I have to do what they demand? Without giving me a reason? Without my approval? Without any consideration?
Why do they expect perfection from me? All the time? Without preparation? Without aid?
Why do they tell me one thing, and want another? Without questioning it? Because I understand what you mean? Since we know each other?
Just because?
What do you mean?
What do you want?
Why do you care?
Why me?
Why now?
Why d
A small amount of annoyance by G0D0FSHAD0WS, literature
Literature
A small amount of annoyance
I hate people.
I hate people, because they're annoying.
I hate people, because they want stuff.
I hate people, because they don't tell me what they want.
They lie, they betray, they make up stuff that's not true.
They exist.
Why do I have to do what they demand? Without giving me a reason? Without my approval? Without any consideration?
Why do they expect perfection from me? All the time? Without preparation? Without aid?
Why do they tell me one thing, and want another? Without questioning it? Because I understand what you mean? Since we know each other?
Just because?
What do you mean?
What do you want?
Why do you care?
Why me?
Why now?
Why d