The human body is a vessel for constant suffering. It is meant to feel pain, bitterness, anguish, and the lightest of them all called “happiness”. But how could we not know, that after all, it is a cycle? That you start being happy and you’ll end up with the rest? How could we—the brightest vessel for this experiment—not know that from the very beginning, we are meant to such torture; to such excruciating pleasure? How could we not know that we are merely pigs being raised only to be slaughtered? How could we not know that we are nothing more than a beautiful flower, being nurtured only to be picked up and crushed in someone else’s gentle paws? How could we not know that we are nothing more than just a vessel for someone who plays stupid games in a place we do not know where?