A hum. Death is like a sad, low, hum that drones through your mind. Senseless and without direction. It looms around you like the mortitions blanket, a curtain that hides you from the face of life, and presents a veil of obscure hope. It makes you think, what if when I die, it's pretty. It's not pretty. Nature isn't pretty. Life isn't pretty. It's a mad struggle that people have become unaccustomed to. A point of primitive behavior that, if people banded together to resolve, could have been eradicated with hard work. Unfortunately, the world has never been polarized,  catalyzed, to fight for humanity rather than human self interest.

==

Somewhere far away from the Origin. In a classroom, early in the day, a boy with matted hair lay with his head down. His drool coated a piece of paper to the point where what was written was unsalvageable. The remainder of the class were having side discussions under hushed tones or into what ever vice they could find the carve the dull lesson out if the foreground of their attention. A teacher stood at the head of the class, middle aged with a few strands of hair on his balding scalp, while writing something 'important' on the board.

"Class," he questioned in a tone that half stated his intention before turning around to a disinterested medley of students. "Do you know the reason this recent biological research touches on physics?"

None of the students responded. This professor had a nickname, "Mr. Conspirator", or "Sir Loch Ness the 3rd". He was british, a hard find for young American students to appreciate, and old. Needless to say anything about his looks and gender. 

"It's evolution, class," he started again, "the revolution of evolution." His voice was growing more and more animated as he talked. 

"Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to have gene strengthening and rejuvenation? No more cerebral palsy, dementia, cancer, paralysis, kidney failure, obesity. It's almost too good to be true."

"It is too good to be true," a half asleep voice came from the class. The teacher, on tenterhooks of his own "revelations", rapidly deflated.

"What? This research is 60 percent accurate currently, and-"

"And it will be monetized, capitalized, and militarized before it will benefit us. Like all good things before it sir. Let alone the fact that this cellular 'language' is very brand new and being rushed into importance by our lovely king the president, these studies came from a loon that murdered twenty nine people in a small town in the name of his god."

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The boy with matted hair looked up with furrowed brows. If Dandy were alive, he'd be a spitting image of him. The boy seemed to have fire in his eyes as he bore holes in the swollen face of the enraged teacher. 

"Donovan, how dare you," the teacher began a rant that didnt seem to start. "How dare you."

Donovan, satisfied with the response, went back to sleep. The other students looked at the boy as and enigma. Four years ago he had lost his family to an incident that received world wide infamy. A underground following called the Darkist made scientific upheavals that bordered magic. The followers doped themselves with a biological compound that would spread to anyone that came in open contact with their bodily fluid. Several towns were decimated as a result. His family included. The other students didn't talk to Donovan after his first day in school. He had gone ballistic when another boy asked him how the origin event felt. Needless to say, the other boy was nearly placed in a body bag. As a survivor, Donovan was protected.

Some say the child was beaten too savagely for a regular boy to have done. They attributed Donovans aggression to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. A few psychologist attempted to analyze him, but the results revealed that Donovan may have experienced psychosis. They claimed, "he's normal but in shock. I haven't the slightest idea what could have caused this. In my opinion i would sedate him." Donovan refused medication and took test to prove his cognizance. 

In Donovans words, "The world is not as you all are perceiving it to be."

The teacher rambled on after a few moments of resignation. He prattled about cellular division and biological life sciences. No one in the class made any apt statements after Donovan.

A boy that sat alongside Donovan would watch him religiously. Donovan was aware, but didn't care. The boy inched in closer and asked, "Why do you write two words at once with both hands? It's weird. And you alternate between left and right hand. I tried at home and couldn't do it."

Donovan perked at the boys question. He turned his rested head and gazed at the boy. The other finally noticed that Donovan had golden eyes that seemed to reflect his soul.

"What's your name?" Donovan asked.

The boy was shocked. He looked up, almost as if he was attempting to recollect his own name, and asked, "Do you really not know my name?"

There was hurt in the boys voice, but Donovan did not make a habit out of lying. 

"I don't know because i didn't want to know. Now i want to know."

"I'm Jeremy. But my friends call me Myah (my ah). I've been your deskmate for the past four years."

Donovan furrowed his brow, thinking back. His golden eyes fluttered like a hummingbirds wings. Jeremy, half dazed by watching, gasped a bit. He realized he had not been breathing. The gasp awoke Donovan from his trance. 

"Yes," Donovan said softly, "there was a Jeremy that sat next to me."

Jeremy looked at Donovan dumbly before breaking into a cold sweat. While he looked into Donovans eyes his mind soared into a different world. He saw many, tragic, things. He regretted looking at Donovan and regretted even more becoming acquainted with him.

"Don't worry," Donovan said, "you will survive. I just did a recollection and it seems your destiny is as strong as mine."