With the weeding out of the weaklings from the collection of gentlemen gathered herein I submit my working blood in exchange for the breathing experience; take my blood oh dear sirs, I beg you do so for my eyes crave the forever before unseen.
Survivor’s guilt is building in me for I’ve walked over the corpses of those who have laid eyes upon the starting line, as I did, when I did. Question build in me, why am I so lucky to still be granted air for my lungs and blood for my heart when multitudes who were different from me only in name are now feeding the earth and worms from which they once sprung? Was I to sacrifice myself for the potential of preventing the prince of darkness from charming my comrades? Why do I feel unfulfilled when I am full and still feel?
