The Fictionalized Truth.

         Perhaps it was my mistake, I kept numerous secrets from the world, secrets so dark and manipulating, one would be petrified at the twisted, inhumane schemes we humans are capable of. My present beliefs contradicts with the laws of morality. I inhabit distance by preference, I loathe society, so much sometimes I feel this revulsion in my stomach, so severe, there is a need to recuperate privately, however despite constant irregularities on my behalf, I have learned to conduct my true nature secretly, disguised for future convenience.

I praise elaborately, I en-hearten the stupid and assist the spirited. Truth is but, fabricated, for I speak only the words one wish to hear, I forge friendship to his comfort while I pray my encouragements will bring him to destruction.

         It was not difficult to recall my earlier days, before the detachment from the colorful world I knew. My world was humble but precious. I was 22, I had so little therefore I appreciated everything with gratitude. In return for each charity I received, I lowered my esteem. Oh, how stupidly had I allowed them to violate me to their advantages? The service I offered were never enough, and perhaps due to my insufficient knowledge, I was often accused of faults I never committed nevertheless I obliged obediently. I allowed them to judge me for my pudgy appearance, I surrendered helplessly to them. In this cold suffocating world, I did, somehow manage to find preciousness, in the form of vivid characters. My friends.

         They were no ordinary people. They were lavish, sons and daughters of the wealthiest people, and on the contrary of rich stereotyping, these friends of mine, were humble and welcoming. I began to indulge in luxuries I never knew possible, not one night was left neglected. We authorized the night and drowned personal sorrows through immature jests. We would waste hours at the esplanade, naming stars, every so often we would laugh, at times cried, but I believe, till this day, what we appreciated uttermost was, each other’s presence. Otis, Bay, Ambrose and Ana, lit life into my youth, and I have kept their names remembered perfectly.

For they were the very same people whom caused my innocent demise.