He was not an angry person. He was a lover, a hugger, a steadfast friend, a voice of counsel and, when needed, criticism. He was a person who cared about what others ignored, and it left him disillusioned, wondering how other people could live with being so oblivious to what was indirectly harming them as well, ruining their souls. So he spoke up, blaming no one in particular. But speaking only got him labeled “angry,” a dismissal, an excuse to continue what they all knew was wrong but didn’t want to admit to. If someone had shown him a consistent conscience, a steadfast belief that things could be better, if someone had shown him that people were truer underneath than what he saw them do, saw them choose as values, he would have had a reason to hope again, a reason to seek fun, a reason to laugh, to love. But digging deeper only revealed even more selfishness, and those who caroused and claimed to love were liars, using everything and everyone for themselves. They spoke words they did not mean, words meant to sway with ulterior motive. He only saw truth in the very young, but, today, by the time they were in middle school, it was gone, twisted by a world that sold them lies on a screen, just as it had previous generations, but now constantly, incessantly.