Mooning around and mooning around, yet mooning around was not my choice.
Then, once again, the depression climbed and the despair crawled all over me. Their claws marched with a devil’s grin and a devil’s tooth that sharpened each time I moved a step. Hence, mooning around only enriched my wickedest and darkest imagination that could be as dangerous as the Book of Thoth. I struggled to think less. However, exactly one-hundred days later, the feeling that I could stay no longer, erupted. When the poor trees in the poor streets were cut one by one almost to the same height as me, it was as a metaphor of a sarcastic humiliation to my individuality. My poor children were brutally slaughtered at the waist!