How Cliche and Overdone is That?

I hear the scoffs of adolescent girls singing in my ears with a hip-hopish but blinding tune. After today, I feel like living in my dreams only. Is death going to take me to a better world? It is such that as notorious, evil-witted, human beings, capable of the worst actions, limitless in the most devious crimes, can also peacefully, somewhat humorously, live idly by, barely affected by the mere touch of ill-will unto mankind. Few are they.

Suddenly, a stabbing incident is just another “cliche” moment…something to ponder on for a bit and move on to better “new”… Suddenly, a massacre is just another “overdone” act by mankind, and idly walk blandly by, without a hint of concern or empathy or even, remorse.

I am usually the gal fact-checking almost every tiny thing. I think Yuki is the winner, but I too find myself stressing out about whether my vocabulary is perfect. Suddenly, I find myself caring less about my vocabs. The truth is, my vocabulary isn’t going to solve world crisis, stop criminals from their evils, or solve the riddle of death and if there is an afterlife, OR solve every rubics cube in TOWN. Grant it, I am not perfect, and a son of a b**** of anyone that thinks I should be! Just deal with it, like I deal with you. Scoff*

I am so ready for critics I tell myself. I am so ready for this I chime. I am so prepared for this onslaught of criticism, rants, judgement, rudeness, etc., etc. I will be like Martin Luther King! I will be brave and courageous admist my foes! But I’m not. Quite frankly, I am a scared person! I am scared of you, you and YOU! Whoever you are, out there in cyber world, flogging every innocent young or elderly person simply expressing FREE THOUGHT should be punished! yeah, punk, that is what I just said, punished… running off with a trail of real tears, for the first time, feeling afraid too, like the rest of us humans who want something more definite and meaningful out of life.

Life is too long. Life is like a constant reminder of death. Another day that dies off reminds us of the flower petal that wilts and falls off the stem. A short life must we all have. A coffin is our end if we are lucky and aren’t floating down the river. Turning into a formless void, forgotten by all those that once knew you, liked you, hated you, or loved you, or never knew you, we all become a void in the end with all our trophies, ribbons, and plaques, buried with us. Nothing is close enough to follow us when we die. No friendship or kinship so intimately binding that not even death could separate each other. When it is all over, when the lights go out, it is over, as they say, “game’s over.”

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