I have killed many. I have lived many years. The life of humans beings mean little to nothing to me.

Yet I have not suffered more than when my body was no longer mine, succumbing to rage and torturous thoughts toward one who has tried to befriend me.

I wonder if I can even allow myself to be included in anyone's graces for this reason. It may be possible that the safest thing is for me to remain in my section of the city.