I’m sick and tired of never feeling warm.

And that husk feeling. Even when I’m as full as a tick I feel empty, and you know what I mean by that. Don’t pretend you don’t. It’s like you’re a broken vessel that can’t be filled, so that all that’s left of you is an endless, aching hunger that does nothing but grow when you feed it.

I used to think that there might be a way, but there isn’t. The elders, I used to think, the elders have a way. Look at how they glow. But they don’t glow, those powerful, pitiable things. They throb like a wound.

Although we don’t have wounds do we ? No, not us. We have holes which melt back together as easily as plastic, and bodies which are just as worthless. Souls which are worth even less than that.

So that’s it. That’s it for me. I won’t accept this lie any more. The dregs of a life. The scuttling misery of a cockroach existence. And I can’t stop thinking about what I did to my sister.

Carver can have my wardrobe and Freeman can have my guns. The rest you can fight for.