No remorse. No regret. It had to be done. My life is mine, and mine to reclaim. For years, hidden in the shadows.Years and years abuse. What he got was too good for him. Boarding school was hell. No one else can know what went on. All people like to do is talk and talk. Talk is all they are and I don't want to talk about it. It's done, it happened, it's over, he's gone, and no one will miss him.

(Piece inspired by the song "Headmaster's Ritual" by The Smiths)

The oldest breathed water and wouldn't stay in the sea. Sprinting across the crags, he lived puddle to puddle. Why not just stay in the ocean? But I think he was broken.

The second found cadavers that walked and talked and kissed but were dead. Second would give them pieces of his soul so they could glow, but soul isn't sunlight.

Third lived in a cloud fishing for people. When he caught them he would reel them up and eat them. Little stink pieces of heart and blood dripped from the vapor. I would have liked Third, maybe. At least he knew there were worse things than being lonely.

Fourth lived by an ugly statue, a humpty dumpty god. At night he burned his hands in fireplaces, and in the morning he pieced the monument together with Third-World tools. Noon, he would write poetry on its corpse.

When the Fourth died, there were no children to complete his work. But dying isn’t disappearing.

These were my brothers. They speak to me and they make me want to do terrible things.