  He lay dishevelled in the middle of the road, the rain and the wind gleaning from his body the last vestiges of warmth.
Dampness seeped into him like the sordid depravations which his soul had experienced by knowing too much and caring too little. He wasn't another chapter in the story of life, most people credit no more than a sentence if that. The people who credit paragraphs are those to whom we credit minor atrocities and those who's names we do not name.
Those who are credited with chapters are the true villains of history. It is more common for people to recall the worst things that have happened recently than the good things. When people are asked of the good things that have happened in their lives you usually find that none spring to mind and they are forced to say they are sure there was something but they cannot recall what.
When on the other hand pressed to recall the worst things which have occured people are more than willing to divulge the worst parts of their lives. The root of existence comes from remembering the worst that has happened... isn't that the fundamental flaw of existence? Isn't questioning society which I follow and belong to, in its own way hypocritical and conceited of me? 
