Why do we live.
Why do we live if we would only die in the end.
What is our purpose.
Do we exist.
What are we.
Why am i here.
Why suffer.
Why not end everything all together.
For whom did i do this to.
Why do i suffer.
Why do i feel pain.
Why does the world still continue.
These are questions we always ask. Questions that we desperately need answers to.
Questions we ask ourselves.
Do humans just appear in this world, borne into it. Lead a life of pain, and then die?
As abruptly as we come, we leave as abruptly.
Our existence in this world means nothing.
Even if we die....
The world would still spin. Continuously.
For generations to come.
For eternity.
Our actions, our deaths, they do not affect the world.
Everything is meaningless.
Everything is futile.
Once upon a time.
There were two individuals.
These two suffered a lot. Pain and suffering tormented them every day.
One was abused by her family and sold to become a prostitute.
The other had his entire family tortured and suffered in front of him when he was still a kid. To get revenge for them, he joined a gang and hurt others in pursuit of vengeance.
The two met each other and thought that they could heal each other with their love.
It went well for before but everything changed.
When she couldn't fill the loneliness in her heart. The longing for true love.
So, she cheated.
And he became enraged.
Drowned in violence due to his upbringing, his possessiveness towards her, he locked her up in a small room and raped her every day.
Then, when the fruit was born, he stopped.
Two individuals that only had pain and torment in their heart couldn't heal each other.
From their actions, a tragedy was born.
"AAAAHHHH!!!"
"ITS BECAUSE OF YOU!! IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOU!!!"
Blood shed.
No more tears to shed.
No more hope.
No more happiness.
No more anger.
No more fear.
Emptiness.
"How did it turn this way? How did it happen?"
"Why? Why does this happen to me?"
"If i hadn't married her. Everything would've still been the same!"
"If it weren't for this shitty world...!!!"
Only emptiness remains.
As his father continued to beat him. As he turned his own son, his own blood, into a pulp, a mess of injuries and pain.
The boy just stayed still, unmoving. He neither yelped nor screamed in pain.
Nothing affected him anymore.
Rather, he couldn't find any reason to let it affect him anymore.
Everything has only been this. This pain. This suffering.
Even in grief, he only knew how to inflict pain to others.
Even in sadness, he only knew to beat his child.
How sad. How pathetic.
When he saw his own wife dead on the floor, the first thing he thought of doing was to hurt someone.
To transfer this pain to someone else.
A man unable to provide love and care, unable to protect his own, is he still a man?
Or is he just no one but a coward trying to act tough?
"Father...."
"What!? You cursed...!!"
"Why can't you just love me?"
"..."
"Why can't we just be happy?"
Grit.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
Push.
Thud.
"......."
His father now lied on the floor; blood seeped from the back of his head.
The boy pushed him.
He hit his head on the edge of the table. Some red liquid fell from the back of his head, making puddles.
His eyes so dark, so devoid of being.
It's cold. Dark.
He looked at the door, the door that had been locked since the time he was born.
Then he went out of the door.
It's cold.