Lately I have been living quite good in Bingland, chilling in the cupboard under the stairs.

I have taken the freedom of eating the families food and using their smart toaster - it is such a gloomy looking thing so that it is sort of relateable. Made me wonder how I feel about all this.

I even looked inwards and did some psychology tests - apparently I am an aSadist (term coined by the president ASad of SirRia (country was named after its founder sir Ria)), but I do not feel particularly sad - well maybe a little. There are also signs that I could be a sadDamnist, but I don't even believe that SadDamn WhoSaying exists - who the heck believes in a redskinned satyr with a pitchfork that sort of likes fire and damns all of his followers to burn for eternity? That could only be a satyrist.

I do feel like I am a bit of a satyrist myself tho, plus I am a bit sad - could I really be a SadDamnist?

More than that I suspected myself to be a massOrkist, with so many people killed they should be erecting several orks, just for me, like they did in NewOrk.

I don't really know whether Bacterium Joshua is still killing people in NewOrk, you would figure he would run out of people eventually - he is definitely a massOrkist too.

There is a knock on the door. They have come, they have come to take me - how in the depths did they find out that I am here tho... probably magic.

Craig Willoughby silently watched the crying classmates. He barely cared about them or his situation. All he cared about was his childhood trauma. It was alright, they had told him.

His very own parents told him it was alright. He had felt violated when he found out.

What an innocent question he thought it would have been if not for their answer.

"Mommy, I need to go to the toilet. I don't like the smell when it comes out. Is it really ok that I do this?", young Craig asked his mother.

"As long it is on the toilet it is alright.", his mother answered, desparately trying to not laugh. Craig knew that it was not alright. Where would his excrements go? Who would smell them? Where would all of them end up?

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He had counted the amount of excrement he had output ever since he had recognized the problem. It was so much human waste, a large pile, it must be somewhere. It must be somewhere and someone could probably die from smelling it all. Food smelled nice, Drink tasted nice, but Craig turned it into foul smelling liquids and solids.

Every day Craig asked whether it was alright as long it was in the toilet, and his mother always reassured him that it was alright. One day Craig had watched his father secretly on the toilet. It had smelled atrocious, it had to be a crime had it?

Where they all criminals? Craig became obsessed with secretly watching people on the toilet, noting the sounds and smells that had been released in the detailed documentations of his secret book. Nobody was allowed to see it. He remembered clearly the laughter of his parents. He remembered how they shit themselves in a last defiance against the world.

They weren't worth it. They were not worth it. They where just trash. He had made the world better. He had a reason to exist. He was better than them. It was a necessary evil to continue from here. He currently asked himself when his classmates would commit their next crime against the world. Once he had held it in so long, so long that it had hurt so bad. He found himself moving, he had moved to the toilet without asking and had released it all. Why did the emptyness afterwards feel so good? Was he inherently evil?

That had been his childhood trauma. And it haunted him ever since then.

To Craig, all the humans around him were just... just assholes (in a literal sense) - and he was one of them, a useless contraption to produce a useless evil product. Craig knew that no matter where he let it out, it would be evil and it would be out there, stinking up the place where everyone wanted to smell fresh air. But he did not cry. He was a brave hero.