“Is the lady at the beginning the one with short hair?” “Are the two clay models the women at the end?” “I don’t understand…” “I like the colours and the jungle stuff.”
 
All of these are statements, questions and observations associated with Putrefaction and hate. The bizarre events unfolding like fragmented portions of memory. With no clear notion of a right or wrong interpretation, The sheer fucking pretense of the author to create such a non-obvious narrative as a comic insinuates a lack of mainstream appeal however we maintain that you should picture the sequel as a follow on as the two children grow up into impervious jungle assassins (story by Michael Bay).
 
This book was created at the time of rigorous creative/emotional introspection and it’s final form reflects that.