You could have done so much more, when your time is up, have you done enough?

You put yourself back into the narrative, and will they tell your story to others? It’s only a matter of time.

Working in the fields, you never had enough time. You can never pick, who lives, who dies, who tells your story.

Holding your own wound with your hands dripping in blood, as you stared at him. The man above you, Ghost.

Will they tell your story?