The cat and existence

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Pierrot, the sad clown

It’s been a while since I have written anything. I wonder how many times I have said that. I’m never sure If I have anything to truly say. I am still very much the child that wants to be noticed but is terrified that someone will notice me. That’s why I write, I want to scream in agony. I want people to know I am in pain. The truth is, however, everyone is in pain. Being in pain does not make me special. But when am crying alone once again, I just want someone, anyone to know am hurting. That I exist.

I hit a cat with my car the other day. It just ran out into the street as if it was running away from something that scared it. I didn’t feel a bump or hear a thud but when I looked in my mirror I could see it on the road, making its last attempts at moving before dying. It took me longer then I like to admit before I pulled over. I walked to the cat and it was completely lifeless. I pulled him off the road, blood was pooled around his head, but I could not stand the thought of another car running him over. He had no tags or collar. Stray cats are rather common in the area. Still, my first thought was to wonder what makes my life worth more than his. I don’t like hurting others. I always sought to live a life out of others path. To live and to die without being an inconvenience to anyone. Now I wonder if I truly want to live, I will inevitably be in others way.

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