Fighting Scars

Prologue.

So I am still and I am silent, 
because if I open my mouth, 
I may never stop screaming"

-Franz Kafka.

There's this thing about the city that gives me the chills. 

Maybe it's the the way it morphs between predator and prey, victim and aggressor, with such ease.

Or the way it adapts to its demons without a second of hesitation as if they were always meant to be here.

Maybe it's the way it welcomes newcomers only to painfully crush their dreams one by one.

Or the way it embraces its monsters, like conquerors, instead of crushing them the way they have with so many others.

Or perhaps it's the way it broke me, with steady rhythmic blows. Like a thick sheet of glass that withstands several hard hits until it's too weak and that precise blow is delivered in just the right place with just the right force, and it shatters under the impact.

Monsters aren't just horror tales parents tell their children, so they behave, not here. 

They're those things that walk in the streets of Bishop City, day and night.

Some call them humans.