Their voices scream inside my skull, echoing through my mind, groaning and begging. I fall to the ground, sucking in mouthfuls of dirt with my gasping breath. Their screeches hurt me. I can hear their pleas. My fingernails dig into my skull as they beg for freedom, an escape from the torment of this place, but there's nothing I can do, except chant, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," letting the empty words echo through the silence. They're all begging me for an escape, but I can't help them. I can only save one life this night, one small voice among this multitude of suffering children. It's one or nothing, and I've made my choice.
Not that my heart isn't panged with guilt, though. They're all just a bunch of kids, innocent children, ripped away from the arms of their parents so they could be here and live here and die here in this diseased land. The place is scorched and burned by the greed of industry. Not long ago, it was a pretty place, where the birds fluttered through the mossy willows, bu