Let us begin with this statement: there are no monsters save those we create.
We speak a great many fictions. We tell tales of rabbits the deliver chocolate, we claim old men descend into fireplaces with gifts. We speak of gods, of devils, of zombies and faeries and clockwork Nazis from the Moon. We love of fictions. We cherish our fictions. We build our worlds around them.
We speak a great many facts. Most of us sell half our lives for the money to eat, to have a roof, to buy Apple products, to consume and propagate. There are men and women in this world who will kill to make their point. There are men of power who will, from a distance, kill children for oil. There are those who will sell others for drugs, for sex, for the rush that power over another brings.
We speak a great many truths. All people deserve to love and be loved. Compassion is a way to enlightenment. It is impossible to be angry when a baby is sleeping on your chest. Kittens are cute. People a capable of magnificence that will bring tears to your eyes.
There are no monsters save those we create. We can speak fictions of goblins, or beat children in our frustration. We can tell tales of angels, or extend our own hands to those who need us. We can relate platitudes, or live according to a vision of ourselves that inspires ourselves and the aspirations of others.
We make the choice, every day.
Monsters. They are only us.