His legs all the while building up acid in his over-worked muscles. Where was he to go? What was he to do? Everything that once was there was now lost; faded to a bland state of nothingness. His voice as a whisper, calls out unto the shadow in the night, beckoning forth anything that listens to stand in his presence. The painful ringing of silence penetrates his form revealing to him; there is nobody except me. Thoughts come to mind, am I really here? Or am I just a figure of an imagination, dreamt by an illusion that is fed by the delusion of reality? If I am just a matter of thought, then why can I speak, talk, think? Maybe whoever is imagining me is thinking about me thinking. I must say, if I am just a thought, I condemn whoever has thought me into such hell. Because if ever there was a hell, this would sure be the place.
He stands, longing for the day where there is another. Another life so that at least he could say that he is not alone is this world. Tears stream down his face in sorrow and self pity, burning through the grunge on his face leaving streaks of a fresh start upon him. A show of such emotion, tears of a new beginning.