Memories flooded the mind of the cultist as he lingered closer to death's door.
He recalled his childhood — living with his beautiful and loving mother in a peaceful city alongside his older brother.
He recalled a certain house, his home, it wasn't that lavish but it was extremely beautiful, filled with nothing but love and peace.
There was plenty of food to eat, friends to play with.
'Friends. I had friends?'
His mind wandered — his last twenty years, he never had any friends. After joining the cult, he never really made friends. The cult forbade friendship!
But the memory of his old friends kept appearing in his mind — himself and other kids running around happily, memories of them stealing food to hide from their parents to share with each other, memories of them acting as soldiers fighting against evil.
'I really had friends.'
It was as though this memory had long been clouded in his mind, pushed to the extreme end so that he could never recall any of them.
