He wonders, had the thing not looked like Duck, would he even care? He is pretty sure he wouldn't. As it is, he can only see his boy, and it all muddles sometimes;

(when he thinks when he dreams - when he even sleeps, that is - had he shot him? had he had Lee do it? did he leave his boy there to turn into another of those things? he hadn't, had he?)

He should, maybe, care about who this one had been, but. But.

He didn't.

It was just another thing, not a person; and he couldn't really care about who it could've been, who it was.

He... he didn't have nearly enough sympathy for the living now, as it was.


(and everything was a-muddled.)

Most of the time now, he was all numbed up inside. Except when he was angry.

And.

(when that piece of shit confessed - he wanted him dead - the anger was everything, like a bitter medicine - he wanted him to pay - he, he, he -)

(but no, he was saved again and -)


Kenny wondered if he should be scared of himself. He thought maybe he should be. He thought maybe all the good in him went away, with Kat and Duck. He thought -


(and so when the kid - shit, Ben - went and fell and got himself impaled, and those damn things coming - Kenny just couldn't. Not another person he knew - not another thing - Kenny thought maybe he was already good as dead - Ben ruined everything - but maybe in this, he could save him, too.)

(he wasn t even sure which him he meant, any more -)

(he pulled the trigger twice - one for you kid, and one for me)

There's no sympathy for the dead; it swells and I was never the same.