rain drops fall, carrying with them the happiness once known by the boy. rain. what a beautiful thing, just like death. the boy found comfort in things like these. rather than fearing the concept of death, rather than worrying that soon just like a sunset he too will fade away,he fancied it. he craved it. it's beautiful he thought. To find beauty in the most sinister of things was his mentality. Where people saw dead limbs he saw the last trace of a persons existence, a person who had a normal life like the rest of us. was he married? did he have kids? did he have a life goal? all these questions went through his mind and they slowly took over. fog stimulates his memory and he's reminded that death all though is feared it should be worshipped. the poor man won't live again and all that remains are the memories he made through the body in which his soul inhabited. death was beautiful in the way that it set the soul free for it was trapped. they boy had thought about this but never spoke of it, "they'd think I've gone mad". truth be told the boy did fear death, not in the sense of dying but he feared  the satisfaction it gave to the troubled souls. wander.wander.wander. his soul wandered. they boy saw the pain life offered to people. he too had seen pain. he had lived it. he was pain. snap, crack and break. one by one his ribs would tear through the tissue of his lungs.kick after kick, punch after punch. his mother wouldn't stop. she loves me, she loves me. they boy had lied. his mother was an alcoholic. all she was good at was hurting others the way she was hurting. her husband had died.a widow, a fatherless child, a broken family, a broken boy. life's ironic in the sense that you never know what it'll bring with it so why live when you can die with the satisfaction of knowing true freedom? the boy chose death and now he's never been more alive.