What amazes me is that no matter how smart you think you are, you're bound to think well of friends, or people you consider as such. Even though they may be anything but.
You view their actions through this veil and seek to find reasons, explanations, justifications (no matter how flimsy) for their behaviour.
But your belly is churning and you can't sleep at night and you have imbibe ever more copious amounts of alcohol to persist in this self delusion. Because facing the truth would mean falling...
And you would rather not fall.
But then a feather lights on your head. And you start to plunge.
And once you've got your lens adjusted you start to view things as they are. You start to see how laying the worst possible interpretation on every minuscule piece of behaviour is no more than just.
You understand that you're dealing with the undead, not a spark of light or goodness anywhere. Evil being merely privative, a dark hole, an absence.
And you understand why the undead fill the rest of humanity with dread, and wise people steer clear.
You can't save the undead.
Their souls have already been damned to hell.
All you can hope is that their bodies follow.
Swiftly.
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