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Survivor

In the bleak wilderness of Death Row, this desolate desert of despair we find ourselves in, each of us are pushed to the precipice of existence.

For me, the grim specters of death looms large, crushing me tighter than any chain ever could, trying to take all I have left.

There’s Escher, the Diorama Killer. Cold-blooded and calculated like a tarantula, weaving intricate webs of dread from the gruesome remains of his victims. His terrible craft leaves a trail of fear that flows through this barren land like a toxic river.

It flows to the mighty cactus, standing tall despite the demonic heat of the sun tempting it. It’s Amataga Tuga, silently shouldering his pain, his past cutting jagged patterns into his soul. Get too close, and they will decimate you.

But still, he endures; a monument of resilience in our dust-choked purgatory, his sorrow a testament to unbearable loss.

Nox is the rattlesnake. Hidden in the sandy depths, he strikes with swift cruelty. His venom is despair, a chemical cocktail brewed in the cauldron of his tortured mind. Each strike alters the course of the world around him, creating a path of control and manipulation that nobody can seem to resist.

Jasper Redgrave is our vulture, a constant circling presence. He relishes the essence of death, blood, patiently waiting for the perfect moment to dive upon his prey. His incessant circles are a dance with death, art of melancholy and mayhem.

And then there’s Aster Grey. The mirage. Thriving on the paradox of his existence, he oscillates between reality and oblivion. He’s an illusion of serenity amidst the chaos, a paradoxical enigma of the limbo between life and death.

The desert is unforgiving, harsh, a place where only the most resilient can survive.

Trapped in this death chamber, with foes such as these, who could survive?

The Coyote survives.

I survive.

Because in this sandbox of the condemned, I am more than my foes. When the Warden’s blazing fury scorches the land, the Coyote endures. When others succumb to the relentless wilderness, the Coyote adapts.

When Escher spins his webs of dread, I step lightly, avoiding the sticky tendrils that seek to entrap me.

Against Nox’s venomous intent, I employ swift maneuvering, refusing to become another victim of his chemical despair.

Where Redgrave hovers, eager to feast, I outsmart him, denying him his morbid pleasure.

Through Tuga’s silent suffering, I find strength, using his resilience as a beacon to draw inspiration from.

Aster’s confusing existence is a riddle I see through, because knowing what’s real and what’s not is more important to survival than anything else.

And I know what’s real.

I’m goddamned real.

See, I’m no stranger to hopelessness, but its there I find determination.

This Coyote won’t be swallowed by this desert of desperation.

I will endure, I will adapt, and I will survive.

So bring your webs, bring your poisons, bring all the bullshit I’m surrounded with day by fucking day.

I don’t give a fuck. Cause I’m not trapped in here with you, you’re trapped in here with me.

And ain’t a goddamned one of you taking what’s mine!

CJ Thorpe