The music that was my sole comfort in this dark pit suddenly became more cheerful. More familiar. I saw images that pleased me. Those people who saw my condition and did NOTHING about it. Those teachers who IGNORED my pleas for help. Those police officers who were TOO BUSY stuffing their fat FACES full of donuts and checking for half of the community's Green Cards. All of them. Ever single one. I saw on the ground. In the trees. Blood soaked and maggot infested. Bones broken and eyes gouged out. Mouths sewn shut to take from them the release of screaming. AND THEY DESERVED WORSE. I saw my kills. Knife thrust through the old farmers gut. The crack of the baseball bat as it connected with the baby's head. The SCREAMS of the security guards as they were flattened beneath the Killdozer.
I finally remembered my name, my identity. Morningstar. I was Morningstar.
My body felt like it had been sitting on that hard stone for eons. Bones cracked as I stood up. My stomach screamed for sustenance. I felt weak. The lightning from the storm illuminated a door atop a short flight of stairs. Slowly, ever so slowly I ascended. The door was unlocked, and behind it a blinding light nearly staggered me back into darkness. But I pressed on, half blind, shivering and starving. It was a large house. Mansion like, beautiful colors and scents were all around. But there was still that maddening silence. I thought I could still hear the sounds of the tools breathing beneath me.
