I was back at the bleak place again. That place thrumming with filth and despair.
It was like a rewind tape, like I was going through the motions, which has been replayed before. The dream that I had when I had been thrown into the holding cell, when I had been in a coma.
I didn’t know what it meant, but it seemed it would keep coming until I discovered its purpose, its reason for visiting me.
Yet, why me?
I sighed when a woman’s despairing cry echoed in my soul, tearing at me, reprimanding me, drawing me back from the edge of a great precipice. I was starving.
It was just as before.
Every cell in my body craved food and something else, something I could lay my finger on, mostly because I had rehearsed the dream by now.
Blood.
I was somewhere underground.
The hunger raked at
