Life was hard and she was fucking tired. How was this her fucking existence? There was no way that she deserved heinous fucking pile of bullshit.
There is just so much fucking chaos still, how is this is even possible?
Why is this still a goddamn thing? All she wanted was control of herself, of her life. If she had ever even really had it. She wasn’t sure if that memory was real or fake at this point.
She couldn’t remember not being tired, not being sad, or this lost. Living hurt. Bambam yearned for relief. She clung to the memory if it like her life depended on it.
Because it did.
Every day it became easier and easier to express how much she wanted it to be over. How much she didn’t want to be here.
Everyday it became more true.
Every day Bambam sunk deeper and deeper.
And yet every day she woke up and chose life.
Every day she continued on relentlessly. Her actions not matching her words.
Because that is what you do when you are Bambam The Brave.