The answer has always eluded me, are people evil or are people made to be evil? Ever since I was young I could never truly grasp onto what the answer was.

In movies the villains were usually senselessly evil, being evil for the sake of being evil. But then in the world around me it was apparent that people were made evil by the people and environment around them.

As I’ve grown older I’ve looked deeper into the world around me and now I’ve become confused once again. People who are raised by alcoholics or abusers tend to become wary of alcohol and more loving and protective of their own children (though there are still the unfortunate times when the child becomes the parent). So does a negative environment make a person evil? Or just more prone to evil?

If that’s the case then is everyone born inherently good? And does that goodness come in different ‘levels’ of strength that allow it to last through negative environments? But… if everyone is born inherently good, then there must also be those who are born inherently evil?

I’ve gone and confused myself again. Perhaps everyone is born inherently good and evil, and the environment they are put into slowly wears down either part. One day some of them will give into the whispers of their evil while others will hardly pay attention to it?

So perhaps, people are not just born evil, or made evil, they are born with the possibility to be either and it’s all just happenstance.

- the ramblings of someone who would like to be a philosopher.

He sat there, on the old floorboards. He sat there, in the dim light in the dark of this night. The moon had long since gone to sleep and so had the sun. So he sat there, holding a deck of cards in his hands. Shuffling, shuffling, shuffling, shuffling them. A card fell out, flipping around chaotically before landing face down on the floor before him. A shaky hand reached out towards the card, deftly picking it up and bringing it closer to him. He flipped it over, looking at its face that was now staring him down.

Silence

There was no movement, no shuffling of cards or heavy breaths, just silence in the dark room of his. Until there was no longer silence. The deafening noise of nothingness was replaced with a discontented hum and the shuffling, shuffling, shuffling, shuffling of the cards in his hands. Those cold, white hands. The hands that were so skilled at shuffling, shuffling, shuffling, shuffling cards. Time went on, the night growing darker at its peak and then becoming lighter as dawn broke into the sky. More cards had flown out and landed around him, always face down. Each time it happened his cold, thin, ghost-white hands would reach out and bring it closer to him. Staring the card down as it stared back at him. He would hum in discontent, before placing it in a row with all the other cards that had stared at him. Once the cards had been placed he would go back to that shuffling, shuffling, shuffling, shuffling of cards.

And then again, as the night finally faded, there was once again a deafening silence. It was only now that I dared to sit up and stare at the spot on the floor where he had been sitting. There was nothing, no deck of cards, no shuffling, no eerie moonlight when there was no moon out. I stood up on shaky legs, staring at the spot where I had always seen him. He had never left anything behind when dawn broke, but this time he had. In the middle of my bedroom, sitting there face down on the floorboards, was a singular card. I quietly kneeled on the floor and reached out with shaky hands, slowly and fearfully picking it up before bringing it towards me and flipping it around.

I stared at the Tarot Card in my hands for a moment, confused as it had nothing on its face. In the place of the usual picture that would normally be on such a card was a small mirror. I stared at my own reflection, not relaxing that that deafening silence had returned. I didn't realize anything until I heard that shuffling, shuffling, shuffling, shuffling from behind me.