From Shrimp Boy to Slapjack: System Activated

Despair

Days dissolved into a blur of accusations and anxieties. Each headline screamed my name, painting me as a villain, a fraud. The constant buzz of notifications, the intrusive flashes of paparazzi cameras, chipped away at my sanity. Even venturing outside for a little felt like walking through a gauntlet of scornful whispers.

I retreated deeper into the sanctuary of my apartment, but the walls offered no solace. The silence, once comforting, now amplified the loneliness gnawing at my core. Memories, once cherished, turned into cruel reminders of how easily trust could be shattered.

Sleep became a stranger, replaced by nights spent replaying conversations, dissecting every word, searching for a misstep, a flaw that had birthed this public crucifixion. Doubt, a relentless parasite, feasted on my confidence. Was I delusional? Had I overestimated the power of knowledge, of hope?

The library, once a vibrant haven, felt like a poisoned apple. The faces I knew, etched with gratitude and warmth