They dont come back; the children. Between the grief of the living and the greed of the dead it was only a matter of time before a rift of distrust and contempt rose between the ranks. The spite that the dead flouted their second chances, while a poor mother wept at her childs tomb. The time of optimism was the worst of it, the expectation and hope, that the strange force would once again lift the hand of youth, until the living were sent mad with denial, and the dead realised they would be eternally bereft of innocence. The stares, the hate, its as though the dead took the children away.
With clarity left to come,