Paper Trails 2 | Draft

42.

"Chaos, destruction, casualties. There cannot be a war without one or all."

*****

The truth about people is we've all got the potential to bad things.

The question on whether or not we're inherently good or evil doesn't have a simple answer. It's Shrödinger's Cat. For those in the back unaware of the paradox, it's simple. Actually, it's not, but whatever.

Let's say a living cat is placed in a box, along with a vial of poisin and a radioactive substance. Then the box is sealed. If a single atom of the substance decays, there's a relay mechanism that will essensially break the vial and release the poison, killing the cat. Outside of the sealed death box, the observer doesn't know if the atom has decayed, therefore does not know when the vial breaks, and in turn does not know whether the cat is alive or dead.

So, since we can't know unless we open the box, the interpretation after a while is that that the cat is both alive and dead. (You know, until we open the box and confirm its state.)

So. What's my point? We can't see inside another person. (Unless you're, like, a surgeon, I guess.) But we can't look at a person and tell their intentions, their feelings, or their motives. We have to be subjective, because we don't know the facts. So. Are we inherently good or evil?

Unless their motives, intentions, and feelings are revealed, the answer is both.

Shrödinger's Cat.

In my experiences, I've come across a lot of people who seem to be more "evil" than they are "good."

And even outside of my circle of aquaintences, this is a world filled with people who romanticize horrors. We bond over our interest in serial killers, we watch people die on dashcam videos or cellphone videos uploaded to twitter or facebook, we record fights instead of trying to stop them. We're desensitized to atrocities, and we don't even realize it. Sure we feel bad. Some might even feel shame. But, in truth, darkness is alluring. We like it, more than we care to admit.

I know I do.

I would have denied that a few years ago. But the more I got sucked in, the less inclined I felt to leave. I'd become accepting of it.

Instead of trying to figure out how to escape it, I taught myself how to survive in it.

I don't know if that made me brave, or stupid.

I knew one thing.

I was guilty.

I'd followed behind Niccoló back to the apartment (for like the first few seconds before he made me walk beside him because it was, as he put it, "too late for [me] to be out looking like [I'm] alone.") I felt sticky, ugh, and wrong. I felt really wrong. When I walked back in with Nic in tow, Raven stopped and stared at us for a few seconds before averting her eyes. She knew.

Nic mumbled his excuse of forgetting his keys and she picked it up from the coffee table and tossed it to him. He didn't look back at me before leaving, he just left. The second the door closed, Raven gripped my hand and yanked me towards the bathroom.

"Fuck," she sighed, her hands going to the hem of my dress and pulling it up. She pulled it off of me and then turned around to face the shower, her hand going to the dial and turning it on. "You smell like sex, Neila. And your legs..."