aaric malinowski : d5 : cb

You know what they say. This isn’t something that good people do. There’s a stark difference between good and nice, my friend. I’m a nice person. I hold doors open for old women and retrieve lost toys for children, I let my younger sisters twist my hair into braids and I smile at disgusting older men when they hand me my cash. I am, by no means, a good person. I don’t take the high and moral road to achieve my goals. I take the back way, through the dirty alleyways in the dead of night. If things were different, maybe I’d be good. If I didn’t have such an attitude, if I wasn’t the sole provider for my household, if my parents hadn’t been stupid and gotten themselves wrapped up in rebellious politics.

My parents. There is no limit to how much I despise them. Their selfishness left us with nothing. I was the one left behind, picking up the pieces. It’s been months since then, yet it isn’t any easier. Life isn’t free, and money is hard to come by. I’ve exhausted all my options, and my sisters need to eat, so this is what I do now. It’s a good thing I’m pretty.