The Book In The Mail With My Name On It.

Tears

(Trigger warning! This Chapter can be skipped, it is almost completely irrelevant to the plot, it's here for filler and for those who'd like to understand more about Oma and his childhood! Thank you.)

Oma's P.O.V.

A child born in this world...seen as a celebration, is it not? But what if that child wasn't...it was meant to be in this world just so it could be the prime example of failure. That child is me. They're words...even if they're not spoken, they hurt.

"From you who are, lovely, sad, and tripping over. The scent of suffering failure is present." Is what he thinks.

"From you who are, modest, prudent, and bowing down...You use the word sorry as an excuse? I have been careless from the beginning anyways, since I was created, before you." Is what she thinks.

"Well you're the percise example of all the things that are disappointing and all the things regrettable." Is what they think. I don't care anymore. They can all suck my dick. I'm terrible but you are so much worse. You've always had an ego fatter than I think I am.

"Oh but you're so skinny! You should eat more" Shut the fuck up. Does it look like I give a damn? I've been struggling to keep myself alive since I was eight years old, I don't exactly care about getting hurt. Wanna know what really pisses me off? The kid who grabbed my hair so I would look at him and asked me to my fucking face, 'Can I rape you?' knowing damn fucking well I have been raped before.  Fucking bastard. Why the fuck did he say that? What did he fucking expect? I want to become a god so I can destroy with wretched place. I want to make them all pay for what they've done to me. I want them all to feel what its like to be in pain while someone pleasures themselves while they suffer. I hate them so fucking much. I hate that it feels like it's my fault, I hate that I constantly bring other peoples moods down and stress them out when I talk to them so I just decide to shut the fuck up. That's all I do, I push people away, that's the type of person I am. I'm a fucking freak. So why do old men like me so much? What's so fucking sexy about a child? Hm? I don't understand adults. They use you and tell you stuff you don't understand. I hate them all. None of them should live. They should all die slow, painful, deaths full of agony and begging for the pain to stop. Wait this isn't good for my mental health, I'll shut up. I'll go back to sleep for a while.

467 words, this chapter was just a vent TwT