( prologue to a next life )

He would never forget the raindrops knocking on his coffin, painfully screaming in a post-partum (from life) depression, nor would he forget the stiffness banging on the wood as the carriage was hurried along the cracked pavement on the streets of the Holy Land to the cheapest and closest "Ash House".

He had never imagined what the future would bring to him, now, when the latest experience in physical death had been caused by simply the absolute lack of love.

He didn't react too much to the beatings and mutilations of the hysterical fat maniacs, self-proclaimed highnesses in control of a whole degenerated generation. He still remembered though the permanent hunger of the soul and the love he had never experienced.

Adnan was not a fighter anymore. It was time to move on and die for a while...