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...