A Text's Unity Lies Not In Its Origins
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Success is not guaranteed by enduring struggle.

I was born in Greenville, Illinois to two ruthless parents. My father was a fat old man, who lived by the bottle and died by the heart. My mother was a smoker and prostitute, who gave a damn about no one but herself. My sister killed herself at the age of nine. My family's been a mess for as long as I can remember.

I would spend most of my time as a child watching kid's TV shows. I sat on my stomach and raised my head to the colorful world above me, filled with life and happiness. It was my escape from reality, and like a drug, it became addicting for me. Every day after school, I'd ignore the screaming in the backyard and watch television. For a while, I even forgot I had to eat and sleep. When the cable was cut due to unpaid bills, I wanted nothing more than to go back to that wonderful realm. So it became my dream.

I, of course, barely passed grade and high school. My sluggish mind couldn't keep up with the fast-paced classes, and I spent most of my time doodling anyways. I would always draw those characters from the television, so much that it became almost second nature to me. I'd draw different frames on different pages, and flip them, watching them animate. It made me happy, like the real ones on TV. I drew everything, from elephants, to kangeroos, to chinchillas. I guess it was practically my destiny to become a children's animator.

I went to a community college and took courses in art. It felt almost natural to me, to draw and create wonderful sketches of enormous magnitude. I painted and colored and traced and carved every single one of my characters, learning more and more from the teachers and students. My dreams were finally coming to fruition.

Yet, sadly, the college did not share my ambition. My second year there, I was kicked out and thrown to the dogs, never to return to that wretched place again. Poor, hungry, and in debt, I retreated to my small home, which was more of a tiny basement than anything. I spent some time there, quietly sketching my characters again and again, getting better at animating. It was after some time that I decided to animate for a company.

The studio was known as Gataleni. I was accepted for the position, mainly because I was the only applicant, and began work immediately. I sent in my first short about the chinchilla I used to draw after a month, and it was accepted with slightly positive reviews. Public reception was moderate. Even with these lackluster reviews, I still clung to my position by a mere thread. It was difficult due to my slow animation rate- perfection comes at a cost of time, you know. After only 7 months of working, I was thrown out to be replaced by some idiot named Alex.

As you could imagine, I was devastated. I lost all hope for a bright future. Instead, using the money I earned at the studio, I purchased a house in some raunchy neighborhood. I figured I could live there peacefully until I ended up dying from some disease or whatever. I used my money up on booze, and when the bills started getting higher, I just ended up not paying them. I drowned myself in bottles and got up in the morning merely to have another. But, despite my condition, I could not abandon my cartoon children.

I would animate for at least 5 hours a day, 7 days a week. My animations got better and better, even if they would take more and more time to create. Bottles surrounded my desk, yet I had not given up on my passion. I continued harder and harder, but for what purpose, I do not know. Even now, I have no idea what I could have done it for.

Now, the money has run out. I can't keep living like this anymore. My time has come, I know it now. From the beginning, I was an utter failure, and in death, I am still a coward. I fear what will happen to my creations, with no one left to animate them, and their states of perfection. My pistol, loaded, pointing at my forehead, will be my escape. Despite the tears staining this paper, I do not fear death. I just regret not trying harder.

I love you, George. Please, never forget me.

-Saul Szyslak.

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