A new death and a new life. They realized looking back was futile a long time ago, they decide never to do it again. Yet the lies they tell themselves come to the surface every millennia, feeling it like an impending death. The loss a silver bullet drilled and holed into their system, close enough to the heart to feel, to really feel, the screaming agony of fire and brimstone. The numb shock of death and destruction, the confusion and the open mouthed horror that follows every decision they make. A ghost haunting their every desire and every whim, never to let go.

They realize they should never look back and every time they lie to themselves, that no they wouldn’t, that yes they are deaf to the screams, that nothing can touch them, and a certain invincibility penetrates them to the very core. Every millennia a new lie and a new reason to want to never look back.

Yet they ignore what they need until it blows up in their faces and like cancer eats them from the inside out leaving a husk that will implode and backfire on them in due time.

They make sure to pick themselves up every time. Which draws other to them. It’s their greatest strength and some say their greatest weakness. Enough imploding and eventually they’ll get tired and stop. Just stop

stop everything.

It is a slow process picking yourself up. Delicate, some would say. Others say it’s two steps forward one backwards and sometimes three in the other direction.

What they say comes in threes so it’s sound advice, that seems like a lie though, three the most special number of all is something to be admired, yet feared, yet coveted, yet thrown away, yet saved, yet killed, yet shown mercy,

yet knowing none.