Scrutiny

Some days I feel as if every move I make is being scrutinized. I just want to know why. Are people so unhappy with their own existance that they must focus on mine and pick it apart? Do they think it will change the sadness in their own lives?

I walk the halls and feel eyes burning into my soul. The squinty eyed scrutiny never stops. What are they looking for? Will they know it when they see it? To what purpose do they do this?

But, alas, the consequences of their scrutiny has become blindingly clear. I am not wanted. I am being expelled like a foreign object that does not belong to the uniform whole. My presence has tainted it and therefore must be eradicated.