"Charlie, you know nobody's perfect,

right? But why is it that everyone is

to blame? We blame the people around us

for not being perfect.

We say that the impact of

society is destroying us into tiny bits of

gravel. We say that the people creating makeup

are the ones to blame for. We say that the

people who sell cigarettes at the counter

are the ones that give us cancer.

We are so damn selfish that people don't

understand that we are the ones creating this

labyrinth of suffering.

We are the monsters.

And then there are those people who take

perfection to the next level. If one person

isn't "perfect" to them, they toss them away

as if they are a rag doll.

Created in a factory by

people who are underpaid.

Goddammit, Charlie, look

at them."

A girl with big squared glasses,

a ripping knitted hat and a faded

blue jacket was pushed to the side of the

sidewalk by a group of girls.

Get out of the way, loser.

"Just because she isn't their idea of

perfection doesn't mean that

she never is."

Azura brushed the dust off of

her pants and walked up to

the girl, asking if she was okay.

Azura, you are perfect.