I imagine it went something like this:
The desk that they always ignored. The desk that they always laughed at. Because when they make a mistake, it’s okay. But when I do, somehow I’m a pathetic excuse of existence and I deserve to be made fun of for it. Because I’m not a person so it’s okay. It’s okay to laugh at me, to mock me, to pick on me, or ignore me because I’m a worthless body bag. My opinion doesn’t matter and why should it? I’m not one of the millions of loud mouthed idiots like you. At least I wasn’t.
In reality, it went like this:
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