I sit in my jail cell, sometimes staring at the big gaping crack stretching across the entire ceiling. The walls are damp and moss ubiquitously spread. A strange aroma seems to permeate the air around me. A much peculiar aroma; heavy, yet to which I find myself strangely accustomed. It is the smell of my own rotting flesh. With that coming to mind, I look down and realize for the nth time where and what I am. I lay my head down on the soggy ground and release a sigh that felt like it’s been long, long overdue. Had my tear sacs not already dried up and shriveled away I might have even cried. But the time of tears and sadness and happiness and love and anything else that made up my humanity had long since withered away. Emptiness was all that