After leaving that city, I relocated to a small coastal town in the south. With my previous experience, I quickly secured a role as a project manager at a foreign firm.
The relentless pace of work gave me no space to dwell on the decaying past. The burns on my leg had improved after several skin graft surgeries, though they left behind a large, grotesque scar.
Six months later, after finishing a long international meeting, I walked out of the office building.
A light drizzle hung in the air. I opened my umbrella and was about to head for the subway when someone cut me off.
It was Jack. He had withered away completely, his once well-fitted suit now hanging off him like it belonged to someone else. His hair was unkempt, his eye sockets hollow, his chin covered in rough stubble. There was
