The memories are too full -- sharp cawing crows and dead decaying ravens and sweet acid-burning water -- of dissatisfaction. There is the incessant chatter of voices that rise and crash, swell and shatter, until he is a mass of warring limbs. He falls. A wind's touch would send him into insanity's arms to be coddled into a world of his own choosing. His mouth twitches up at the image.
He rises and decides to leave it behind. This life is over and a new one shall begin. He stands and shivers along his spine. The fur twitches and then leaves his body. He wonders if he is an ugly thing now. It matters not.
He yawns and his mouth seems to stretch until fissures crack along his suddenly dry skin. The edges flutter and he begins to pull out of his skin -- out of this life -- until he should be naught but bones. Instead he is as he was before, a little more vibrant and a wider smile on his face.
All the memories settle into the drying crinkled shell of an old life. The wind blows them away and he, reborn of his own decision, moves off into the swamp. It is time to lead a new life.