Junks collapsed. Not at the sight of blood. Naw, he'd seen that shit so much. 
He collapsed into his personal hell. He twitched violently like how was overdosing and seizing yo at the same time.
His whole life was laid out before his baggy eyes.


[i]He saw his mother.  He was cradled in her arms. Warm. Loving was he gaze. 
She turned into bones as the cocaine dug through her. Soon she was a skeleton with an empty smile.
A gun.
No.
No.
No
His father came through the door.
Skull fragments and blood poured out her head
He ran
Run
Run
Run
He saw the nun who took him in. She whipped him for no reason.
He stared into Jesus's eyes as her hand hit him. 
Again. Again. Again.
Was there a God?
He ran again. Far away. Never knowing a home. 
He remembered his first kiss. She was a crackhead and he was high. Was it love, or was it something that never existed?  
He woke in the bed he spent in with her. He was 14, he remembered. But his reflection was 5. The young boy they found running down the street after his mother was murdered. His clothes wore her blood like a cruxifix. He turned into the boy that ran again from the Foster home run by those nuns. Black clothes with a gold cruxcruxifiHe degraded as he grew. Teeth rotted. Some disappeared.  His crucifix disappeared with God's hope in him. He evolved until he was looking himself in the mirror. A exact reflection. 
He then evolved further. 
He wore a black suit. His teeth were replaced by solid, white ones.
This was what he would've become if he'd ran again.
Then he saw a skull. His skull. He was already dead. Was this hell real? Was he really still alive? Was he dead?
 [/i]
He twitched back into this world of flames screaming.