Those pasts, whether radiant or dim, hung in the sky like stars, shining with various hues of light under the blood moon.
It was like looking at a streetlight through tear-filled eyes, the light diffusing in a blurred world.
Among the myriad memory fragments that Russell had seen, this was the farthest flung, the most thoroughly shattered.
Perhaps it was because he was already dead, or perhaps because "Andrew" had long been dead—or because he had embedded too many memories not his own into his mind, allowing those that truly belonged to him to become infiltrated, fragmented, and utterly fragile.
And as Russell reached out towards the "stars" in the night sky, those glimmers from the past entered the frame—
In a narrow, cluttered room, lights were everywhere, and the air was filled with the pungent smell of rubber, plastic, and oil.
A man was wearing a fully enclosed helmet, biting on a silicone bar. He was alone in the room.
