DON’T LOOK, said his thoughts, his conscience. WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T LOOK.
He knew he wasn’t the same man anymore. Everything’s changed, again. What’s done was done and nothing he can do about it now. (Or could he? Something in the back of his mind telling him… no. It couldn’t be. Guilty conscience.)
His home, burned.
All those memories, gone, and by his hands. And for what? To save his own sanity? Sure, he tells himself he had a higher purpose, but did he REALLY?
He runs his hand through his hair, along his face. Both cleaner, shorter than before. Singed off, he tells himself. He wonders how
(WHATEVER YOU DO)
(DON’T YOU EVER LOOK AT YOURSELF AGAIN…)