At the time, I was sitting down. I wasn't sure what I was seeing, or quite what it was making me feel. And as for the seeing, it wasn't really....seeing. It was more of....knowing. Realising. With all of the words in the English language, you would think that you could find and use plenty of positive sentences and passages. That less of them would be used to break people down, and that more would be used to build people up. What I was seeing, was not really me seeing it. It was me, living it. I was being yelled at by my grandparents, for something that I don't really recall anymore. All I remember is feeling really....hurt. That what was happening to me, being yelled at once again, for something that didn't really matter, that they didn't really care if they hurt me. If they hurt anyone. If anyone or even everyone around them was hurting, and they didn't care whether or not they made it worse. The same was true for most people, spare for a couple people, the people who were the best. The people who really felt. Those that didn't just feel for themselves, but for everyone else as well. Everyone else just.....hurt. Not just those around them, but themselves as well. These people, those standing in front of me, shouting, "reprimanding", as they called it, were those who hurt. As I was sitting there, being reprimanded, this was what I realised.
