Page 12 of A Love Like Venom

The lines always seem to blur.

The train track theory is the perfect example. On one side of the track is ten innocent people tied down. All chosen at random, but ten innocent people nonetheless. On the other track tied down is just one loved one. One.

A choice has to be made.

You pull the lever, and you save the group of innocent people tied to the track by sending the train to the second track. To the track of theoneperson who you love.

You don’t pull the lever and you save your loved one. Killing a group of innocent people.

Is that one life more valuable than a group?

What is right?

What is wrong?

The line is blurred.

But sometimes, it’s clear. You can just see it. There’s no blur. No misconception. No manipulation.

Sometimes good and evil you can just see it. You can see the distinct line between the two.

But what makes people decide to be good or evil? To choose right or wrong?

No one is innately born good. Nor is one innately born evil.

We as human beings have the power to decide. The will to act.

I guess what I’m getting at is I just can’t understand why my mother and sister chose to become evil.

Do they honestly see themselves as good people? Is the way they’ve acted towards me in their eyes the right thing to do?

The mental abuse since I’ve been a child. The neglect. The shame. Never once coming to my aid. Forcing me to grow up at a young age. Abandoning me. Trying to inject me with their poison.

Was all of thatrightin their eyes?

Is thatgoodto them?

Are the lines blurred?

Because to me it’s clear.

It’s thewhy.

Whyare they choosing to do wrong?

Whyare they choosing to act upon evil instead of good?

I had hoped in my years of studying psychology at the local community college it would give me an answer.

But my real question, the question I am afraid to know is, why is the lineation between the two, good and evil, right andwrong, why is the lineation between the two blurred when it comes to Reed Carter and me?

“Hey, you’re in the clouds again,” Grace says, jolting me out of my inner psychoanalyzing.

“I’m sorry.” I offer her an apology with a weak smile.

She waves her hand in the air as if it isn’t a big deal. Grace does that a lot. She downplays when I’m in my head, oblivious to the world around me. Yet still, I can see the concern in her eyes. Grace doesn’t know everything about me, but she knows enough.

We both share a shitty childhood.

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