He asked, to which the Concept of Life could do nothing but remain silent.
The answer to the question was obvious.
"At least all that a man who was made into a horse has to worry about is the hot desert sand and his aching back."
"What do you have to worry about, White?"
"You've always had more power and all of the good that came with power. The fame, the recognition, the praise. Everyone regarded you as a genius, a treasure worth possessing at all costs."
"You've never really had to worry about anything but keeping yourself alive, have you?"
She retorted, and White paused for a while before chuckling quietly.
"What do I have to worry about? Oh, not much really. Just me losing everything that cared about me and everything that I've ever cared about."
"The first thing I cared about in this world were my parents. I lost them both to some shitty drunk dude who's now serving life imprisonment in a federal prison."
