What is this world coming to?
I... can't believe she said that.
Or maybe I can.
I forgot why I never spoke candidly about where I came from, to anyone, before I arrived here. When I first came here.
Today I remembered.
And it's put into a new context, all the things that are being said on the journals and the forums.
All the fear. All the needless fear.
Men can kill men, as easily as a "monster" can. And that label of "monster" can be anything, anyone. A misconception. A different point of view. Something that people don't understand. A self-fulfilling prophesy.
I was called a monster, once. By someone I cared about.
She wanted to forget me.
...she did forget me.
I don't think it's something people should be able to decide. To remember or forget. Any more than I think it's a person's right to decide who should live, and who should die. And while we all stand and look at the world from our different sides, and our different angles, I simply thing... the human, the people of the world, killed my family. Because of me. And they would have killed me too, except the monsters of this world saved my life. Does this mean that, by all rights, I should refuse to live among humans? Because for thirteen years of my life I feared that people would kill me? Because Abanazer Bolger locked me in a room, and because Mo Quilling tried to have me arrested, and Scarlett... and Scarlett... all I ever suffered at the hands of living people was fear, doubt, and pain. Should I hate them forever? Try to dispose of them, as they once did me?
I never killed a man. I would do it, if I had no other recourse. But what would it solve? People would still refuse to see the world through anything but their own, narrow view. Maybe they need to, for their own protection. Seeing the world through the eyes of a monster, well... that's an unheard of thought.
But I'm not a monster. Silas was not. Miss Lupescu was not.
And I don't think he is a monster, either.
Or maybe I can.
I forgot why I never spoke candidly about where I came from, to anyone, before I arrived here. When I first came here.
Today I remembered.
And it's put into a new context, all the things that are being said on the journals and the forums.
All the fear. All the needless fear.
Men can kill men, as easily as a "monster" can. And that label of "monster" can be anything, anyone. A misconception. A different point of view. Something that people don't understand. A self-fulfilling prophesy.
I was called a monster, once. By someone I cared about.
She wanted to forget me.
...she did forget me.
I don't think it's something people should be able to decide. To remember or forget. Any more than I think it's a person's right to decide who should live, and who should die. And while we all stand and look at the world from our different sides, and our different angles, I simply thing... the human, the people of the world, killed my family. Because of me. And they would have killed me too, except the monsters of this world saved my life. Does this mean that, by all rights, I should refuse to live among humans? Because for thirteen years of my life I feared that people would kill me? Because Abanazer Bolger locked me in a room, and because Mo Quilling tried to have me arrested, and Scarlett... and Scarlett... all I ever suffered at the hands of living people was fear, doubt, and pain. Should I hate them forever? Try to dispose of them, as they once did me?
I never killed a man. I would do it, if I had no other recourse. But what would it solve? People would still refuse to see the world through anything but their own, narrow view. Maybe they need to, for their own protection. Seeing the world through the eyes of a monster, well... that's an unheard of thought.
But I'm not a monster. Silas was not. Miss Lupescu was not.
And I don't think he is a monster, either.