Being forgotten was worse enough, the long stretches of time lost to the seemingly eternal stretches of nothingness. Laying unused, being disavowed of the only purpose that one has, to bring joy, had been difficult to comprehend. But being discarded, now that was far worse. The black hatred swelled up, filling the spot where his heart should be, vitriol coursed through nonexistent veins. It consumed him, this feeling, it provided motivation, giving direction where none had remained. Being discarded had brought new purpose: to seek out those that had cast aside his worth, and bring terrible vengeance upon them.
All of this, wrestling, and your emails!