Why do I have to be so weak? What might I do next to earn myself worse punishment than this? Is there even worse punishment than this?

This self interrogation has been ongoing for years as I've made my way through the seemingly never ending maze of Auburn Guards and Fawn Dragons. Shoulder to shoulder, wing to wing, they form a sturdy barrier siding the path that I travel to my decapitation. Though, I feel as if I have already succeeded death and am stuck reliving the scenes of my past life.

I've seen this take place thousands upon thousands of times before; I know how the process goes. Every night I'd sit at the television with my seven brothers and my mum and watch the faces of people I'd loved take their own steps towards The End.

Now it's my turn.

Who knew offering a piece of my half-raw chicken to a poor, starving boy would end me up here? So often thoughts of regret force their way into my racing mind. I shouldn't have given in. I should have let him go hungry, die. But... I knew how he felt. I knew what it was like to be so far down that you're eating with the pigs with no way to support your family.

Scraps, they called us.

Yes, I have been there. When Paddy died and Mum got sick with Scarlet Fever, us kids were left to fend for ourselves. I, being the oldest of eight, of course, was left in charge.

Well what a disappointment I turned out to be.