See the boy, alone and frail. His pale hair like gold in the eerie gloom. He walks down the street toward parts unknown. He cannot turn back, not now, for he knows he cannot ever return. He looks over his shoulder, seeing the hollow, empty shell of a home that was once his. It's a dead thing now. Gone are all the comforts and souls that brought it warmth and joy. He shifts the pack on his back, and walks on.
