There had been few occasions in which he had been so certain he was about to die. But he hadn't been wrong this time. This time the pounding ache in his head would not be soothed, nor would the poison running through his veins pass through. This time when his heart stopped, it stopped for good.

...

How does one tell a well structured story, when life is absolute chaos? How can one gather their broken fragments and call it a life? That's not what this is. This is no story. This is not a life. It is survival. Stumbling day by day desperate to follow the sun into tomorrow. Following the light as to not be engulfed by darkness. The Darkness.

It's in everyone nowadays, nobody is born from the li...