"I'm scared," says Ralph.
But I am an author, and take control of this story. Ralph does not understand fear. His existence was short, his history nonexistent, his understanding of the world and his place within it unreal, characterized by the agony of going from non-being, to screaming awareness all in an instant.
The author has returned Ralph to the imaginary realm from which he sprang, freeing him, and any unwitting victims who witnessed his short, confusing reality.
Truly, the only monster here was the first narrator, a casual god who created Ralph only to serve as an instrument of suffering.
A male friend of mine who confides in me was complaining to me about how there are these 'feminists' talking about 'toxic masculinity.' Apparently he viewed some video where a guy was intentionally conflating masculinity with toxic masculinity. I didn't know that at the time, I was just shocked, because he's the biggest victim of toxic masculinity I know. When I said that, he asked me to explain, and I pointed to the fact that his father burned his sketchbooks (this was the 70s) because art is "for girls." Which is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.
When I explained that toxic masculinity is that, the emphasis to conform to some harmful version of masculinity, he turned on a dime so fast in rage at the asshole who conflated the two.
The thing that hurts my feelings most is when men are taught to forward toxic masculinity that harms them. When they're forged into links in a chain that they would never wield if they knew better.