Chapter Twenty-Two
I don’t remember the first person I watched die. It might have been my parents. I’ll never know for sure.
By the time my real, solid memories start, living in the boys’ home had dulled Death into a less shocking thing.
For the ones who got sick, there was a simple pattern to their end. Illness, pain, the release of death. Some were trapped within the horrible death rattle for hours. Others were lucky and went more quickly. But the pattern remained.
Death brought on by the violent world outside the boys’ home came in many forms. A blow to the head that would instantly end a life. A s***h to the gut that would take hours to kill. An infected wound that would make the injured scream for Death’s embrace before their time finally came.
I thought I knew Death in all his f
