Am I as hollow as they say? How can I be hollow when I have so many spirits living inside me? True, they are trapped. True, many are dead. True, many are old memories. But are they all hollow? Empty? No.
They wail, but that is their song. I want to let them go, but I cannot. Too far gone. They would not leave anyway. This is their home now.
I consume souls and they become a part of me. Extracting them would be extracting a part of myself. No, instead they are caged. Locked in a place that I try not to dwell on.
Why do I keep them? Why are they here?
When I feel them, I see their lives and their deaths. I see them as myself. I see through them as if I am them. Death lives and dies vicariously through his unfortunate clients.
“Hell is a place that you carry with you.” Indeed. Hell is inside me. I lock it up and wear the key around my neck. I am a gatekeeper. A groundskeeper.
They will be remembered. I remember. I hold them. Not like a mother, but a stern father. I remember everyone. I forget, consciously, but my bones remember. My soul remembers.
One day, my sister will join them. She will have a special place. A garden just for us. The crow and the dove. Caged, but happy birds. Free from the rest. Able to rest.