#(i know i keep posting about Terzo bc he has the most interesting character study but actually Copia is my Papa)

[ficandkaboodle]

Imagine, though, growing up knowing that your life is, for better or for worse, carved out for you. You know where your path leads to, your every age is divided up into stations in your faith, of which contains a multitude of principles and a blend of ideologies that, until recently, have mostly just been dour and dreary.

But you have optimism, and you dare to have a vision: You see something brighter, you see what it all could be. You intend to rise up to the position with these brand new ideas, things no one in your group has spoken about on such a massive scale.

You're quite proud of it!

. . . The elders of your society, however, view it very differently. And at best, they take what you've got and bastardize it and make a simulacrum of it until it just superficially resembles what you had in mind. So your faith in everything, in everyone, dwindles with time. But you can't really get out of this, not on your own terms, anyway. So you keep going along with everything, even though your heart's not in it. But others look up to you, even though you know this isn't the real you.

Anyway, you keep doing this, you give them everything you have and even stuff you don't really have or can afford to give. And you're rewarded by the others for it. You show your elders and it's like "Look! Something good came out of this! Look what my ideas have brought!" And you once again dare to believe that maybe there's hope after all. Maybe your thoughts do have worth --

And then you get ripped out of your position prematurely. In front of a crowd of people who looked up to you.

And you have to watch some no-name nobody from within your group take over your job. Worse, the very people who removed you actually seem to like this fucker. Whatever. Whatever. Whatever! You don't know what to do with your premature retirement, but at least maybe now you can finally just . . . What can you finally just??

You never find out: It goes dark one night. You don't see what happens. You don't know that your body is desecrated for the sake of a photoshoot. You don't learn how much the people who looked up to you miss you, or that they still fawn over your visage long after you've gone.

You don't see the people poring back over your works and rediscovering and analyzing what you had really been saying all along, you don't see newcomers looking to the past and finding you and falling in love with you and feeling conflicted for missing someone they had never met.

. . . And then some mufucker on the interwebs goes around and starts suggesting that you need to climb on the kitchen counter just to reach the cereal your stupid taller boyfriend put on top of the fridge --