Everyone always asks, what’s our special weakness? Gamma rays? Iron daggers? Some ridiculous, stupid thing? The truth is, our weakness is the same as anyone’s. It’s people. The people we care about.
The trouble with humans, Joe, is that we’re weak. A man sees a pretty face, he wants her. It’s natural. It’s animal.
The dress felt like a prison built just for me, choking me by the neck. Digging into my underarms. Flattening my breasts against my rib cage. It disguises everything that makes me a woman from the glare of jealous women and rapacious men. As if their lack of self-esteem or will power should be my only concern. I will never live in that world again where the weak would rather guilt the strong than become strong themselves. No, I will stay in this world. This world doesn’t care what the weak want. This world eats the weak.