My name? I do not know. My family? I cannot recall. My purpose? What purpose can I serve as I sit here, shrouded in the darkness and the rotting wood? I have seen many things in my time. I have felt the wind upon my skin and watched the sunrise bleed the sky. But those memories are distant now, glimmers of light upon a dark pond, snatched just out of reach by time’s wicked clutches. Nobody cares for me anymore. Nobody feels the ache of loneliness of my bare bones or the cold sadness of my tears. And so I sit here, shrouded in darkness and the rotting wood, and I watch, and I wait until time claims my bleached bones and the world moves on.