Distinctions occur among every trait of humans, to such an extent that at times it is hard to trace out a personality. It would never do to generalize those traits even if they sound extremely similar. Each person just has their own way of enacting them. But while these differences make it so hard to cut-out a personality, hers was quite disseminated, or so it seemed.

Being a sinner, she judged the sinners who did it differently while she sat manicuring her nails, on a warm summer night, trying to put things into perspective as the layers of nail colors stained her nails. The color wasn’t what she had wanted but sufficed. She thought about all those terrible, terrible mistakes she had made while she was still young and naive, most of them while righting the wrongs, and yet some out of utter sympathy, love, friendship or more. But the carousel of sinning never stopped. In righting the wrongs, she had lost so much at the price of pure sorrow and mostly betrayal and in somewhere between caring and doing, she had lost all the compassion.

Now she sat wondering, who made her so ruthless? Was it the darkness residing in herself? Or the sins she had committed? Or perhaps it was those damned betrayals. Whatever the reason may be, she generalized it and blamed the cruel world. Amazed at her own sudden decision, that July night, as she finished putting on the last coat of indigo, she packed her luggage, trudging past her memories of teen-life, and stumbled into her twenties as the clock struck twelve.


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