I had stories I wanted to tell, but now there doesn't seem to be any point. I don't expect most of us will be alive long enough for me to tell them. People welcomed evil with open arms because it resembled them, and no force on earth can stop it. Nothing matters anymore.
We never even stood a fucking chance. There will always be more selfish, racist, misogynistic white people. They’ll always have more votes, more money and more power. They’ll always win, and they’ll always be able to cheat anyway.
This is forever. This will never go away. The monsters will never die. No weapon can pierce them, no amount of resistance can make them bleed.
At this point, doing anything to provide hope for anyone seems more cruel than just letting them get eaten alive. Why prolong the inevitable, right?
Why torture people with giving them stories and characters to care about? Why do something as heartless as telling people that it can get better? How can any writer make something so dishonest as a happy ending?
Nothing helps. There's no escape from it.
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