My land is the extent of the hard black roads which weave through the bottoms of the glistening towers. These elegant structures of which I speak reach toward the heavens in a bold eternal effort. It is breathtaking to slope my head upwards and stretch my gaze to the godly beings. I dwell in the narrow ways between their bases. Seldom do souls venture into these dark hollows of tattered remains blowing about in a breeze of foul odor. Most inhabitants are frantic ghouls, rushing about the highways mindlessly, some in metallic creatures with rolling legs. They are lost souls. They think they’re alive, that they are being driven by a purpose. They frighten me, and I seem to stimulate some strange emotion in them.
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