I apologize in advance for any errors in terminology or knowledge in this. It's been awhile since I went over this part of history. On an unrelated note, this story was largely inspired by this image: squirrellyturtleslut. deviantart. com / art / Cemetery - 105585905
You'll need to take out the spaces, sorry, I know it's annoying. And yes, I'm aware that this isn't written very well, it's partially because there was a massive gap between the blocks of writing , but I'm still posting it...and I really don't know why.

These were the lucky ones, he realized, gazing at the crumbling graves, through the thick fog, over the ill land. Beneath one hand he felt the unsteady stone of a marker, with the other he reached up to a skeletal branch hanging above his head.

These were the lucky ones...

Donatello idled at his father's gravesite; he'd been there for nearly an hour now, unsure what to do, unsure what to say, just unsure. Gently, mournfully, he ran his hand over the top of the slab, and allowed thoughts to consume him.

This future had been caused by his absence? That was what had cost Mikey an arm? That was what had stolen one eye from Raphael and both from Leonardo? That was what had taken Master Splinter's life? He, Donatello, was surely not worth that; there was no way that his family depended that heavily upon him... but even while assuring himself, he couldn't help but wonder...

He told himself to stop thinking like that; his family had not been the only ones to suffer. All those living under the Shredder's iron fisted reign were frightened beyond belief; they couldn't be sure that they'd live to see another day…or if, when it came, their murders would just be a random act of violence.

Surely, this wasn't caused by him... it couldn't have been caused by him. But, then again, it was irony at its worst: peaceful, pacifistic Donatello responsible for the disintegration of his family and the enslavement of the world. As he took in the destruction around him, identical damage was being done to his heart. He loved this city and its people. He loved his family, his brothers, his father and...yes, even the cat. Seeing it all torn apart was a harsh blow.

But...this clearing had been spared, he realized, which was rather odd. Why would Shredder do such a thing?

Should he have been complaining? His father had a place to rest, the one of his choice, even; that was more than many had gotten.

Still, his sometimes infamous curiosity got the better of Don, and he ventured through the thick wall of trees despite his better judgment. The sight that greeted him was surprising, too, for it -unlike most other places- was a healthy green. For a moment the grass beneath his feet almost fooled him into thinking that he was at Casey's place in Northampton, but there was something off, and try as he might Don simply couldn't pinpoint the cause. This furthered the mystery, though. Now the question wasn't just about Splinter's clearing, but also about this oddly vibrant patch of land, so out of place in the Shredder's bleak empire.

Something in the back of his mind told Donatello to quit while he was ahead, that the Shredder always had a reason, and that he was better off not knowing this one. Despite this, the olive green turtle pressed on, watching a grey spot in the distance grow larger with each step.

It was a small lake, or maybe a large pond. The water seemed oddly thick, and merely looking at some of the life growing from it was enough to make one squirm...and then there was the pond's bottom. Coated in a layer of thick grey sludge, it was hard to determine where the bottom of the pond stopped and where the water began. If he had to, Don would have guessed that there was at least a foot of that gunk filling the grimy lagoon. He sighed, his attention shifting to something several steps away and after a moment's confusion, he realized what it was.

Donatello fought the urge to vomit...and lost.

Before him was a large, crude fire pit like the ones scattered all around, ashes spilling outside of its reaches and all manners of trinkets buried beneath those ashes. A stone figurine, necklaces, rings, even a little wooden doll that had somehow escaped the licking flames that once burned.

What a cruel irony; the people of the Earth could not learn from their past, but that slug of an Utrom did… and if this was a cremation pit, and the pond had been where ashes were dumped…

Another round of nausea passed over the turtle at the mere thought.

Where there was a setup like this, with the bonfires and swampy pond, there was a clearing for the killings to have originated in; a grove for the gassings to take place and hide the fire pits from view, usually blocking them with a wall of trees…

Careful not to look up, not to look to the side or back, Don rose to his feet and turned, marching determinedly away from the site. He wouldn't look back, couldn't dwell on the past, if he was going to set things right.

If anything was going to change, then he had to be the leader, he had to clear a path for others to follow.

From here on out, Donatello would only look forward, to the future.