Hunter of the Perished World

Hello, I'm Writer S.

You entered Moonpia on March 23, 16 and ended the Hunter of the World, which was destroyed just two years later, on March 1, 18.

This is the third piece in Munpia. Originally, the world's destroying hunters were trying to complete within 200 coins, but somehow the number of copies became the most frequent of all three. Writing isn't always what you think it is.

In those two years, I really, really didn't have a day to rest. The next day when I finished it, I started the next book, and the next day when I finished it, I started the next book.

It was the days of being chased by serial fire. It's been around 935 times in about two years, and it's about 600,000 characters in letters. I want to compliment myself so much... I think I worked hard on it.

But the driving force that I was able to work hard was possible because I had readers, so I would be grateful to those of you who read the hunters of the world that are doomed, and I would appreciate it if you followed all three of them.

The reason for this self-indulgence is before I want to rest for about a year... because I really wanted to tell you that I came at a strong pace.

In fact, it was a lot of work. especially with hunters from all over the world destroyed. In the middle of last year, we hung out for about six years, and we broke up with someone who promised us a future. I was so hurt by it that I had so many bad ideas.

The day after the breakup, the day after the breakup, I wrote. I wrote for a certain amount, but I didn't know what I was writing. It was filling up, and my words didn't ring, they were just mechanical. I could see the poison was dropping, but there was nothing I could do. I just felt like throwing it all away and wanting to disappear. I've had trouble breathing because of stress, and I've been in the E.R.

I didn't know it was possible for a person to fall from stress, to think that no one was threatening me and that I was dying, and I didn't admit it when someone said that. And that's how it happened. I kept thinking that I was going to die, and I felt sick a few times in a state where I couldn't breathe.

When I went through things I didn't understand, things I didn't understand, I showed what I didn't understand, what I had turned away from. I slowly thought, and I forgave, that there were so many things wrong with that breakup that I thought was just his fault. It's funny, actually. It's only possible to forgive someone when I'm innocent, and I haven't been very good at it.

And it was unfair.

Using the hunters of the ruined world, I became very greedy. It's not the number of purchases that mattered, but I wanted to show you a world where I could be completely satisfied. After a long wander, the writing was just being written, not going the way you wanted, not the way I wanted it to go.

I didn't want to write this, but I didn't want to tell you this dead story. If you're bored, that's probably what I used to do when I was having a hard time.

I was so angry. To myself. It's so hard. I'm working hard. I was just comforting myself that I'd never punctured any of the smoke.

The more I got out of it, the angrier I got. I didn't want to tell you this story, I didn't want to write it, and I thought, above all, I was writing a dead article, and it was even more painful for me to watch you continue to watch.

If you're hard on yourself, you're not good at your job. Sometimes you're absent, sometimes you're punctured. But my current condition will improve in the future, but what I wrote today will continue. She's feeling better, but her results are never better.

It stays in my past. It stays in the sentences and the stories I write. as long as I live as a writer.

Writing dies the moment you're born. So when you're born, when you write it, you have to desperately mold it. Every time I saw the sentences I wrote to make it hard without desperately shaping them, every time I saw the words I killed, every situation I killed, every emotion I felt,

Being angry doesn't make me go back in time and try to shape those feelings and situations any harder. because I'm designing and writing stories that aren't always written. The writers are the ones who keep spitting out things that won't be picked up at the moment of spitting out. So you have to say what you don't regret, and you have to pick up what you don't want to pick up.

If you say you're sick, someone will notice. If you say it's hard, someone will tap you on the shoulder. If I cry, someone will cry with me.

But there are certain people who don't.

I know a lot of people who can empathize with my pain, and I thought readers would, but I know a lot of people don't. So I didn't want my readers to be willing to accept those emotions -- sick, tired, painful.

Pain is my pain in the end, and you didn't buy me, you bought my writing. Then you should get a human writing that says, "I am." I met you in the name of Writer S. I'm obligated to show you what you're expecting. I don't have to appeal to human modesty.

It's hard for me to do this, so you have to understand, the writer said, "If you lose it, you have to be patient."

I didn't think so. I didn't think so. He said he was sick, he was fine, he was using it every day, he was just comforting himself. I was comforting myself that I didn't break my promise because I was making a series. It was pathetic, and I was angry.

I was angry, I was unfair, I was upset, I was pissed, I worked hard.

I tried to run away from the grief by writing dazed, and the timing of the dazed writing was unfair, angry, and I was sorry, so I ran away again.

So now I'm writing everything down, and I'm saying, It was hard, actually. Anyway, it's kind of gross to even talk about it now.

Writing is a long, long history of escape for me. I've been writing since middle school, trying to forget about my poverty, trying to forget the pain of reality. because there's not a single story in the macro narrative of the world where you can't eat bread because you don't hear the sound of a bowl breaking in the microscope of life. From the beginning, I wrote to escape the world.

I wrote because I was tired of crying and falling asleep because of poverty. The writing I wrote to escape the world was all new to me.

That's all you can do.

So that's what I thought at some point. Let's live in this way that we ran away from the world. Let's face the world with what we chose to avoid the world. So I'm naming you "S," and I'm telling you that I'm done talking about being a neophyte, and I'm putting up a neophyte. Funny. People are usually out of the car, and I'm a little bit more out of the car than everybody else. So you have a lot to say, so you're a stuttering writer.

This is the only pathetic thing I can do, and if I don't get it right, I'm going to be human disqualified. So we have to try to be good. But I wasn't trying to end up being pathetic.

I don't know yet what position the hunters of the world would have left in my life as a writer. But the most painful one, the most challenging one, seems clear.

But even though I deceived you in the middle, after that moment, I wrote more desperately than anything. I tried to write more and more meaningful sentences to make up for the meaningless sentences that I had written.

The results are like this, but I don't know what I'm going to be evaluated for. But I was trying to be good at it. I'm not going to yell out my best, but I can tell you this was my best.

The hunters of the long lost world are stories of empathy and sin and sadness and love, but in the end they are all things that should not be forced upon others. Any kind of emotion is wrong from the moment it's forced on someone else.

Anyone who empathizes with me should be grateful, but it's wrong to think of someone as bad as someone who doesn't empathize with me. Then you end up discovering yourself not empathizing with people who don't empathize with you. In the end, it's treason to abuse people who can't empathize.

I'm sad, you're sad, I'm sick, you're sick, I'm angry, you bear with me, I'm guilty, but you're so clean. I don't want to say this.

I wanted to show you that sadness is so sad, that pain is so painful, that sin is so harsh, that love is so warm, but ultimately tearful. It's a pleasure if you empathize with those feelings, and a shame if you don't. There's nothing wrong with that.

There are no bad guys. There can be no evil. Just as there are many good people on their feet, so are many and mixed at the same time. People are bad, good, bad, good, completely unaligned, inconsistent, treacherous. I think that's what humans do.

But in the end, of course it's all there.

Humans shouldn't take that for granted, and I'm also a snob, but I try not to. because I think it's the only thing I can do, being born with the slightest intellect, with the clumsiest knowledge.

Now that I live like this, I'm not saying that you should live like this. I'll just show you.

Here's what I think.

What do you think?

There's a lot of text to say, and then there's a lot of reviews.

Now, the story is over.

I'm a speechless writer right now. So I have a year.

When you come back, you'll get lost in sentences and you'll come back chatty.

Do you remember the flower horse from the beehive?

As I said, coercion is bad, that's all I have to say for now.

I won't forget you.