Remy sat on a broken home. The wind whipped around him. He closed his eyes and a small tear curled down his face. The tear danced in his scar. As the wind lifted his hair the tear glittered in the morning sun. He both loved and hated this place. The homes shattered the gray like ash. He listened to the sound of the dogs barking. His fingers curled on his shoulders and he held himself tight. His chest felt as if it would burst. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. He opened his eyes. He forced himself to look. His voice trembled.

“I am sorry. I know it does not matter but I am. This ashen world so much like the one I made of your home. This is more what I deserve. To live in what I made. Shattered homes and that horrific gray. Father you were right. You where always right about me. Mother you always wanted me to be better. I never dreamed I could fail you so completely much less…”

His sentence drifted off. It was lost to the howl of the wind. He turned away and wiped his face. The howls sounded like screams to him. He lifted his face to the sky. Every day he came here. Every day he could not finish. He could not ask for forgiveness. He balled up his fist. His nails dug into his palm. He could feel the skin split. He could feel his palm get warm as the blood flushed over.

The blood crawled and snaked his way out of his fingers. He could hear a few drops of his blood splatter on the ground. The soft taps it made snapped him out of his trance. He broke down falling to the ground. It was as if the strength was ripped from his body taken by the howl. He knees bulked and fell. His eyes again closed and he curled in on himself. He clutched his chest.

He gasped for breath and rocked himself. He calmed and made himself still. He let his pain move through him wash over him. His fingers uncurled and he put them to the ground. He spread his fingers and pushed himself up. He stood and looked down. A few spots of red were the most color he had seen here. He wiped his eyes. He pulled his hand up to his lips. His tongue snaked out and he lapped at the wound. When it was clean he put his hand down and turned his back on the accursed place.

He forces his legs to move. Each step was hard. So much he just wanted to stay there. Curled up in the ashen world. He wanted to sink in get covered in the gray. Not death that was too good for him. He just wanted to stop. For time to still and for everything to pass over. He wanted it to be as if he never was. He wanted so desperately for everything to just stop. Even so he forced himself on. His pain every day was part of his atonement. Still he knew it would never be enough.