It's difficult when people seem to dislike you only because

Host:
The moonlight spilled like liquid glass over the narrow street, quiet and silvered, the hour late enough that even the air felt contemplative. Inside a dim diner, neon signs hummed softly, painting streaks of pink and blue across the windows. A single jukebox whispered an old tune — something nostalgic, something half-forgotten.

At a corner booth, Jack sat with his hands wrapped around a half-empty coffee cup, the steam long gone. His grey eyes were distant, tired, reflecting the streetlight glow as if it were thought made visible. Across from him, Jeeny sat cross-legged on the seat, her brown eyes fixed on him with quiet empathy. She stirred her drink absently, the spoon clinking faintly against porcelain — a metronome for the unspoken.

On the tabletop between them, a printed article lay open — a headline circled in pen, the ink smudged:
“Creator Faces Backlash Amid Sudden Success.”

Below it, in small italics, the quote that hung between them like a confession:

"It's difficult when people seem to dislike you only because you've found success with something." — Scott Cawthon

Jeeny:
(quietly)
It’s a strange kind of pain, isn’t it? The kind that comes not from failure, but from success.

Jack:
(sighs)
Yeah. You work your whole life to be seen, and then the moment people finally look, they start throwing stones.

Jeeny:
You think it’s jealousy?

Jack:
No. It’s deeper. It’s the world’s way of reminding you that it doesn’t like anyone stepping too far out of line.

Jeeny:
(nods)
We worship ambition until it wins. Then we call it arrogance.

Jack:
Exactly. We love underdogs, but we crucify champions.

Host:
The lights flickered, the neon outside momentarily dimming before returning to life. The rain began to fall — soft at first, then steadier, tracing glowing rivers down the glass. Jack’s reflection blurred and reformed, fractured by water and thought alike.

Jeeny:
It’s hard, though. To stay grateful when success becomes isolation.

Jack:
Yeah. People see what you’ve gained, not what you’ve lost.

Jeeny:
You lose privacy. Peace. Maybe even friends.

Jack:
And sometimes, you lose the love for what started it all.

Jeeny:
(sadly)
Because what was pure becomes public.

Jack:
Exactly. You start out creating because it feels like breathing. Then the world turns it into a transaction.

Jeeny:
And if you stop creating, they call you lazy. If you keep going, they call you greedy.

Jack:
(chuckles darkly)
The paradox of being seen.

Host:
The rain’s rhythm grew louder, a percussion that filled the diner’s quiet space. The hum of the neon sign outside blurred into a soft buzz, the air thick with reflection and fatigue.

Jeeny:
I think that’s why Cawthon’s words hit so hard. He wasn’t angry — just… bewildered.

Jack:
(smiling faintly)
Bewildered that success doesn’t always bring celebration.

Jeeny:
No. Sometimes it brings suspicion. People think you must’ve cheated fate somehow.

Jack:
And maybe they’re not wrong — success always involves a little luck. But luck isn’t theft.

Jeeny:
And still, the world treats it like it is.

Jack:
Because it exposes what they’re afraid to face — that their dreams are still waiting for permission.

Jeeny:
So your win becomes their mirror.

Jack:
And mirrors make people uncomfortable.

Host:
The waitress passed quietly, refilling their cups with fresh coffee, the smell of roasted beans mingling with rain and memory. She smiled faintly, the kind of understanding only night-shift souls ever truly share.

Jeeny:
Do you ever get scared of success?

Jack:
(pauses)
Yeah. Not because I don’t want it — but because I know what it costs.

Jeeny:
And yet you keep building.

Jack:
Because not building hurts worse. Creation’s a kind of hunger. You can’t turn it off.

Jeeny:
Even if it turns others against you.

Jack:
(quietly)
Even then.

Jeeny:
(smiling softly)
That’s strength — not arrogance. The courage to keep making things in a world that criticizes creation.

Jack:
You think it’s courage. I think it’s compulsion.

Jeeny:
Maybe both. Maybe every artist walks that line — between calling and curse.

Host:
The clock on the wall ticked softly. The rain had softened now, tapering into a drizzle. The city lights outside glimmered like scattered stars reflected in the puddles. Jack’s gaze followed them, lost in a kind of weary peace.

Jack:
It’s ironic, isn’t it? The thing you make to connect people ends up making you feel alone.

Jeeny:
But maybe that loneliness is proof that you’ve touched something real.

Jack:
How do you mean?

Jeeny:
When something resonates deeply — art, success, truth — it divides people. Some feel seen by it, others feel threatened by it. That’s how you know it mattered.

Jack:
(softly)
So the hate is part of the echo.

Jeeny:
Exactly. The louder your creation, the stronger the echo.

Jack:
And you can’t choose who hears it.

Jeeny:
(smiles)
No. You just keep playing the song anyway.

Host:
A thunderclap rolled distantly — not violent, just deep and inevitable. The kind of sound that reminds you how small even success really is against the size of the world.

Jack:
Sometimes I wish people could see the failure behind success — the sleepless nights, the doubts, the times you nearly gave up.

Jeeny:
They wouldn’t want to. They prefer the myth.

Jack:
(smiles sadly)
The myth is cleaner.

Jeeny:
But the truth — the truth is what gives art its soul. The cracks, the fatigue, the human mess of it all.

Jack:
So success doesn’t corrupt art — it just reveals the artist.

Jeeny:
Exactly. The applause doesn’t define you. How you survive it does.

Host:
The diner door creaked as a late customer walked in, the bell above it chiming softly. The moment shifted, fragile but enduring. The rainlight on the windows turned the world into a watercolor — all edges softened, all judgments blurred.

Jeeny:
You know what I think? The moment people start disliking you for your success… is the moment you stop living for their approval.

Jack:
(quietly)
Freedom disguised as rejection.

Jeeny:
Exactly. When people turn away, they leave you with yourself. And if you can still look yourself in the eye, you’ve already won.

Jack:
(pauses)
That’s… almost comforting.

Jeeny:
It’s not comfort. It’s clarity. Success was never meant to make you loved. It’s meant to make you honest.

Jack:
(half-smile)
And honesty always offends someone.

Jeeny:
(smiling back)
That’s how you know it’s true.

Host:
The rain stopped completely now. The neon signs flickered against the glass — OPEN glowing steady in the reflection of their eyes. Jack looked at Jeeny, and for the first time that night, there was something like quiet relief on his face — not joy, but understanding.

Host:
And as the clock struck midnight, Scott Cawthon’s words lingered — no longer a lament, but a lesson:

That success does not isolate you because you’ve changed,
but because the world’s reflection of you no longer fits.

That jealousy is the price of authenticity,
and criticism the echo of visibility.

That the strength of an artist
is not measured by how many applaud,
but by how gently they keep creating
after the applause fades —
or turns to stones.

And that the truest kind of peace
comes not from being loved by everyone,
but from being true enough
to make someone uncomfortable.

The neon light buzzed softly.
The world outside shone clean after the storm.
And in that small diner booth —
over empty cups and shared quiet —
two souls sat steady,
learning again the quiet art of staying kind
in a world that sometimes punishes
those who succeed.