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Enoch

Nothing in this world can exist unless in its heart is held some sort of basic morality that helps him or her to thrive in a society of like morality. Unless someone is good, in any sense of the world, big or small, they cannot exist for long. Soon enough, they would crumble down, destroying themselves and perhaps others in an orgy of hate and pain. To be alive, and to keep oneself alive is the true good, for with good, comes self-respect, and an instinct for self-preservation. True evil can be seen as a complete disregard for ones own life, the scorn for the privilege given to you. There is a reason why all forms of sadism and masochism have been taboo in countless cultures for as long as we can remember. Pain itself is a method of survival that we evolved with, not something to be enjoyed for it's own sake. We can acknowledge that the negative, the dark have their place in the scheme of things, that they have their necessity, but it is a necessity, nothing more. We must bear it, but not delight in it for its own sake, or the precarious balance we have achieved, the balance that lets us as a race progress, will be upset.

Stepping out of the car, Enoch waved goodbye to his benevolent driver, and wished him a safe journey on further trips. He walked forwards, wrinkling his nose at the pungent odours of the city. He raised his head, looking at the towering buildings, marvelling as the sun came out from behind a cloud, enticing thousands of miniature rainbows to come out from their glass dominions to decorate the proud sky-scrapers. Enoch greeted them with a smile and turned his attention back to the streets. He let his gaze wander, and bright patches of colour bit by bit caught his eyes until it seemed like every street was a beautiful riot of colour, from flowers and trees, to intensely detailed pieces of graffiti, that should rather have been called works of arts.
He stepped into a small pizza-place, next to a university and relaxed, luxuriating in the bubbling cheerfulness of the students about him. Buoyed after his long journey, Enoch paid for his meal and stepped out into the street. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the fresh scent of flowers, coming from the innumerable pots of plants lining the windows all over the street. Then, tightening his resolve, he turned, and walked down toward the slums, keeping the memories of flowers and laughter tight around him as a shield against the miasma of depression and pain surrounding his destination.