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Selective Empathy

  A selective empathetic is a more sinister evil than the outright unempathetic. The unempathetic is quite small in numbers, and are under more scrutiny. The selective empathetic is one of reflective desire, picking and choosing those to be glad for and wishing to prosper based off of desired personal gain, gain that involves putting others down in the process. This level of empathy is pure submission to outside preachers, outside systems, media, literature, art, and economics, and represents a dark and fallible inner sense. Letting things simply happen, apathetic to their greater truth, nihilistic in meaning, and a walking product of guiding forces around them. A pure empathetic is empathetic to all in all situations, noticing the humanity in all. It is sad to notice the selective empathetic being a prevalent and lauded endeavor, when the qualities of such selective empathetic are thought of also as manipulation. A great contradiction in social morality and personal character judgeme

I'm Sick of It

The screeching snare of the witch's lips came to a purse.
She narrowed on the billow watching a troubled man looking in the mirror.
"Excuse me," she said.
As she watched him, his eyes turned a glowing red.

"What is it you could possibly want? Why are you always bothering me?" He said.
"Can't you see I'm unwilling? I'm sick of your constant intrusion. Will you just let me be? I can't feel for myself ever."

"I'm sick of you as much you are of me," she replied.
"Now listen to what I'm telling you, you cannot lie to me, and I will punish you if you do. Do you understand, to ever be accepted by me, you must be..."
There was a pause

"I'm shelled in my world and anytime you tell me how I should feel, you kill me inside 
Don't you know that I'm sick of it? I can't be myself around you, there is no me. There is only your want for me."

The witch flew away for now. She never wanted to speak on levelling terms really. She blew her long nose in a tissue, almost simulating crying, but it was fake.

The man paced the room back and forth. He never really wanted to be bothered by anybody, and was always intruded upon. On his walls were beautiful paintings he made when he was left alone. 

"How can I be hurt by something so small?" He thought.
"When you tell me this isn't true, that my mind isn't thinking right, I can't be comfortable."

The next morning, it happened again.
The witch was perched on the billow and said "Excuse me,"
This time, the man was fast asleep.
This woke up the man, and he was not pleased.

"Will you leave me alone you drafty fool?? Can't you allow me to lay?" He said.

The witch replied, "I am sick of your laziness. You are weak, now get up."

The man attempted to close the curtains, to close his door, to close the draft from the witch. Every corner he turned, she stood there. Every corner he looked, she was there.

"How am I going to be well if I can't get any sleep to be well???" He agitated.

"My my my, what makes you think you need rest? There are other things that are more important, more important to me." She spoke hastily.

So the man gathered his blanket, and looked for a spot to lay. It was hard to find one where he wouldn't be bothered, but he eventually found one on top of a hill. As he laid down, there came the witch once more.
"I'm sick of your disobedience, subordinate to me!"

So the man ran across the world to another continent, somewhere the witch truly wouldn't go, but there she was. 

"LISTEN TO ME!" She shouted.

This happened three more times, until he had had enough. 


"I can do what I want and you need to listen to me. HAHA- !"


He shot her straight on her brow. 

"You psychopathic maniac, it didn't have to be this way." He said, as he looked over her dead corpse flowing with redness.

Finally, he could rest.