Taliana was a beautiful person, not in looks, though she was pretty enough. It was like God had planted a seed of perfect caring in her soul and it was ripping her apart as it grew. Every time she saw the imperfections of the world for humans, animals and the environment it was like a vice to her head. The pain built inside her until anxiety took her prisoner. How was she to change what she saw? What was the good of enlightenment if there was no way to make a difference? Volcanic frustration balled inside her, only exploding around those she felt safest with. She ripped into her mother for every hair-line fault while her mind created reasons for the pressure in her head, attributing blame to friends and family. Her only talent was to write, create fiction; she wanted to take that seed of understanding and cast it far away. What was the point in seeing, feeling the pain of people in disparate parts of the globe? Why couldn't she shut it out like everyone seemed to?
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