A few lonely months passed by, and as I have grown comfortable in the bitter silence, I have gotten to know all too well. The silence was so loud that it hurt my ears, but I was accustomed to it by now. I have been held up in an abandoned shack near a river for what feels like years... dirty, cold, and alone in the blistering winter.
The guilt in my head has grown gruesome…
I lead my people to their deaths…
I was a fool…
I lost everything and everyone in the process…
Life felt pointless now…
I spent most of my time replaying that day repeatedly in my mind, as I watched the fire in the fireplace crackle and burn and burn to ashes, staring into the despair of the open flame, soullessly, and repeating it again and again the next day and the day after that one. I ate every couple of days… other than that, I was hardly ever hungry. I was trying to survive and keep it together, while also falling apart at the same time, slowly, but surely.
