We were once an advanced race my father once told me. We were a people of the stars, a dying race launched into the vastness of space in search of new worlds. Then we crash landed on this planet and reverted to our primitive origins.
Running soil between our fingers; grasping beast to breast only to skin it. We adorn ourselves with its pelt, throwing the head to boil it, polishing the skull with single-mindedness and finally mounting it atop our heads like conquered trophies.
I stare at myself in the mirror; a wolver clone.
I no longer recognize myself.