"I pictured myself taking him out of the Tundra. To see the world and its wonders. Away from that cold desolate place. That embodiment of lonliness and despair. That kinda cold.. It's not just physical. That place you'd feel deep in your soul. Such isolation. I'm in the real world and I feel it myself. Even amongst family and friends. I just feel a void. Inside me. Empty, without thought or emotion, most of the time. Things slips from my mind like water through my fingers. Nothing I grasp onto ever stays. It's like my mind slips with every passing moment. Fleeting memories. I can experience something and in the next moment it's gone. Memories.. I have no memory. At least not like the average person. I can picture nothing. I hardly remember a thing. This void grows by the day. Seeking to consume.. I dunno what keeps me going anymore. Perhaps foolish dreams of entering these worlds. Like when I read a story. I'm there for the moment and like always I forget the next. Nothing remains in the void." -- Bruce

"The wind blows cold, freezing my bones. I close my eyes. Imagine my son's soft hand slipping into mine. His warm body lying next to me. And we lie in the grass, with the sun in our eyes and the wind in our hair, on the white chalk cliffs of Rugen." -- Prisoner Christa Mann (von Groszheim), Camp Belica, 1960