One day, a butterfly flew past a lens for a perfect shot, not exactly expected to fly past it, but was caught on the capture. A Photographer, merely a nobody, seeming he had really no goals towards a future, but thought he might have a small enjoyment of art, subjectively Photography. He hadn't had much practice or teachings, just grabbed a camera and wanted to capture the world in his lens. His name was Pat, an ordinary Pat, but thought he was different, though he hadn't any Peculiar differences from most of the people who took photography as a talent. He was merely bored of everything else going on in the next year, so he thought photography would make everything butiful again, it did not. He then thought of how he could get excited in a future, so he thought of something related to art. First thing he thought of was jokes. He never tried to make a joke or even make someone laugh though it seems impossible, poor, very boring Pat. A few days had past and he had written down jokes to his thought were good, he had told them at a show he created. They were a bust, he grew in a depression and figured he'd tell everyone he died since he had no friends or family to support him at the time, he figured he'd rather not wait for them. He hung him self from a Chappel. Suspicion grew in the area that it was a sign, not a meaningless decision. He was forgotten in days, all cases in his suicide relating to a murder were dropped. Pat wasn't remembered, he was unhelpable, he was Deceived by other people's mouths, and he killed himself.