In my world, the idea of the binary became the ghost. The very split between darkness and the light, good and evil, man and woman. The explicit divide. A sacred concept among the populace and the niche, the very device that separates what is intrinsic and devisive. Because what I always believed to be the true and righteous was only anathema to the ideals and emotions to those I held most dear. They only believed in the opposite, and I could do nothing to convince them otherwise, despite my dearest attempts, my most painful cries. I tried, with my greatest abilities, but they chose to burn my ideas to the darkness. Wether it be that my words caused too much pain, or because their ignorance exceeds my bounds, it does not matter. I am in the dark, and my words mean nothing to them. I speak only because words are all that are left to me, and they are all that I have left.
I am a writer, and all that I have are the devices that I was raised with, as inadequate as they may be for expressing the pain and anger I feel for the ignorance that silences me...