The Meadow 51 the third boy expectantly, observing that his one eye wept endlessly until he just shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I just want something to suffer the way we do.” The dying boy said nothing, instead he merely nodded his head as if dozing off to sleep in understanding. Every movement nudged the object within sending a twinge of pain as a grim reminder of better days where he’d cared about the fact that he might really die. Until that day arrives however, he will stand back up to join their building of that house made from twisted wood, and in a few more days, above the disinterested soil, amongst careless stars, the four boys will lie dead.
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