How could anything amount to what I've lost? I've laid it upon the wooden floor. Planned out according to the structure of those gone before, with the loss of a body of a brother, the sinews and bones of my extremities. She will never return. She forever remains in the dirt. Can a son be at fault for wanting to see his mother again? Every action calls for reaction. I didn't know it called for much until I saw the blood on the ground. I heard my brother's voice crying, “Help me, dear god. Brother, help me.”
I knew time was growing short; his spirit was fading. With one last hope of saving, I offered myself up again.

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