Waylon sits in a fountain in a small courtyard just outside of the vocational block his back against the stone statue in the middle, hugging his legs trying to washing everything off him after what happened nearly being mutilated in between the legs, his muscles twitching and tears falling off his face, from both the trauma and the pain of his broken leg, after a few minutes he turns on his camcorder and points it to himself “Lisa… I’m still here, still intact, he… he tried to make me his bride, to cut me. I don’t even believe in getting the truth out of it means spreading what happened here, I should just let it die and let it rot here… I’m sorry but I don’t think I’ll be the same… what happened to me here, it’s been lost, the man loved the husband the father… he’s died here… I don’t even know who I am anymore, but I do know that I still love you and our boys… I’m sorry…” Waylon puts down the camcorder, still trying to recover