All you horror story fanatics and lovers of suspense know who Edgar Allan Poe is. In case you don't, then fuck you, but read this. Author of many tragic tales and poems like The Black Cat, Masque of the Red Death, Fall of the House of Usher, the Raven, and many countless others, you could suppose the man wasn't gleeful.
|Can a happy mind produce this? No, it can't, dumbass.|
First of all, he was almost born an orphan. His father abandoned the family when he was one and his mother, who was an actress (not a respectable carreer in those times) died when he was two, so it was amost like he was destined to suffer. But, was he? Well, yeah. Once he was adopted, not even formally, he was neglected by his foster father and his brother was raised a spoiled brat.
Once Poe went off to school, he didn't even get enough supplies by his father. He quickly got to gambling, and ended up with a huge debt. His father sent him supplies after a bunch of desperate letters, but not any money. Edgar ended up going to the army to make up for his debt. He wrote here and there but in essence was a starving writer.
|Guess he could kick your ass, though.|
After that, he fell in love with a girl called Sarah Elmira Royster. Her family didn't like him, though, so he couldn't be with her. She eventually married some rich guy, had two kids, lost two others, and he left them the not-so-bad sum of $100,000, on the condition she didn't remarry. They got engaged later on, but they didn't get to marry before Poe died.
Then, his foster mother, the only woman who Poe liked left in his life, died to Tuberculosis. He didn't even find out until way later. After that, John Allen, his foster father, remarried and disowned him completely. Also, when the man died, all his money was left to his illegitimate children, not to Poe. That's like a bite at the nuts. When he goes to his Brother's, since that was the only place he could stay, the bro died of alcoholism.
|He just wants to kick destiny's ass by now.|
So, when one of the only people that were actually friendly to him died, he fell in love with his 13 year-old cousin, while he was 26, and they married, faking her age. Fast forward 12 years later, the Red Death gets her and she falls to Tuberculosis. After that, he dated a few more girls but they came and went like eminem's bitches.
Having lived his horrible fucking life, Poe suddenly hit the hay, from a mysterious cause. It could have been rabies, syphillis, who knows. His last words were: "Lord help my poor soul."After that, Poe's literary rival Rufus Griswold wrote a fake obituary and biography that made Poe look bad, but it backfired, giving Edgar Allan Poe the fame he deserved in life. So, if you think you've got it rough, shut the fuck up and remember Poe.