’Why does life exist? Why do people dream…about hurting one another? Is there something wrong with me?’ Those words repeat in Sunday’s head continuously. Awake and Asleep. Day and Night. Left to Right.

Sunday roaming the streets of Penacony, hearing the whispers of gossip, mockery, and teasing. He felt like he was now at the bottom at an empty pit. An item in the back of a pawn shop.

The words…they are too much. He can’t handle these such words. He regrets what he has done, and this is what the effect that put on him. Nothing…can compare to him. His sister is the only one who cares for him, while he hears the voices…the words of those bringing him chained down.

Sunday usually cries in the empty ally ways, begging for someone to stop by and ask him what’s the matter; without fear or teasing him.

Oh great Sunday…how we wish you the best on this journey, but now you’re alone. Crying in this alleyway…with no escape to this cage.