"The Moon"

#0020. Athena waits there, quietly strumming her ukulele, looking out over craters, looking out over dusty seas. There will be a gleaming city in the place she taps her foot. The dust catches fire. In a haze of jeweled controlled explosions, there is a new, lonely city born. 

"A Sentry Warning Us to Stay Back, Back, Back Further Than That"

#0021. There is a warning shot you'll hear as you press forward. And every successive movement will lose you ground. They own the high ground. They own the night. You rule the daytime, maybe, while eyes of the world watch, but once the sun goes down, they are in control again. Move backwards. They will not yield. They will not yield and so you will have to.

"Aftermath"

#0022. I cannot stand this world. Every moment in it is like agony. The pressure of the world above pushes down on me until I feel my spine snap. I am alien, here. Alone. The prisoners around me are in a daze. I feel so empty. I feel so isolated. They are moving with purpose, like clockwork toys. But I know they are liars and cheats. I want this to be over so badly.

"Elisabeth at the Mountain"

#0023. All that she wants in the world is the love of her raven haired girl. All that she wants in the world is the love of her raven girl. All that she wants in the world is the love of her raven haired girl. All that she needs is a miracle.

"Itchy in the Red Room"

#0024. He is like me. He wants there, so much, to be some sort of meaning. He has traveled to hell to find it. The Red Room, he thinks, might be a place of meaning. It feels bigger than him. It feels like a place where secrets are entombed. To his naked eyes, there is nothing there. But that only makes the prospect of secrets loom larger. He wonders if he can make secrets appear from his will alone.

"Specimens"

#0025. Here is a glimpse at the things from another world and another time. Vaguely alive, of course, no longer even vaguely. Bottled and pickled. This is what he was looking for. Meaning. The combination of cells and amino acids and that ephemeral quality of what it means to be alive. They are here, stored away, tucked away. Don't tap on the glass.

"A Place of Rottenness"

#0026. Before he came to prison, he would wander streets. Bloody arms. Bloody eyes. The darkness wrapping him up. Cocoon. Drifting little mind. Those nights took him by surprise. Rottenness settles in on the core of him. He looks up and sees decay. He looks up and sees moments draining through gutters. He wants to cry. He locks himself up, instead.