Because I’m not.
Because you’re a loser, Thump. You are outside. It’s my world, Thump.
And the world is a dead place… as dead as the flesh you left here when you wouldn’t scrape it away with your stubble, dark as the night, sharp as the stars.
Sh’tka’heh, play him into the ground, bury him with your twisted, backward hands. Please. Please let the world stay a dead place.