This is something I pulled out of thin air at 3:45am. I literally woke up and had to type it. Used the handy note feature on my phone. The tid-bit below is from my WWII historical work in progress loosely titled Überleben (which translates to “survive” from German). You can get a real feel for the book by this short piece. Do enjoy.

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Everyone’s story is different.

Despite the profound differences, everyone’s story holds a kernel of eerie similarity. We all have unique trying tails of abuse, neglect, heart ache, separation, and pain but they all share the same origin.

Everyone’s story starts six years ago. Some’s stories have ended too soon. Their pages ripped away by circumstances of their birth. Others stories ended by their own hand. Feelings of hopelessness and despair weighed them down till their hearts strained under the pressure, stuttering to a halt. Some ripped open their veins, spilling who they are for everyone to see.

What’s the most trying is no one cares. Not anymore. Each keep to themselves for fear of caring too much only to be let down like so many times before. We cannot afford to care. Not anymore.

To care is to die.