Kent was tired as he started driving home from work. It was Friday, but he didn’t seem to care like the others at the factory. Fifty years old today, and I still can’t socialize properly, he thought. Kent was orphaned at 6 in a car accident. His parents didn’t make it, and he was left with an ugly burn mark covering half his face. His family were war refugees, fleeing to a country whose language they could not speak, but they hoped for freedom—a hope cut short by the accident. As a result, Kent, unable to speak the language and with no relatives, was shuffled from one foster home to another until he turned 18. While he did eventually learn the language and how to care for himself, his social skills were forever stunted. Despite all this, his life was without much difficulty; working in a physically demanding job gave him plenty of money to sustain himself. Though he was lonely, with no friends or family, he was more or less content. He wasn't a joyful person either; he just didn’t feel much of anything—ever. So, when his car suddenly hit something in the road, jolting him into the path of an oncoming semi, he thought it was unfortunate but slightly humorous that his entire family was to perish in such a similar way. Better this than the cancer, he thought. Right before the impact, though, Kent saw darkness.

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