The Worst Person

The worst person must exist somewhere,
logically, anyways. The worst person must be
breathing the same air as you; spending their
time as freely as you. The worst person must have
basic things in common with you; hair color, maybe,
or the way their ankle clicks when they walk up stairs.
Perhaps the worst person looks just like you; perhaps they
have met your parents, or went to the same school, or
perhaps they live deep, deep inside you, in the places
where no-one dares to look, a shadow cast always
away from the camera. Perhaps the worst person
is waiting in you, eager for their chance.

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