The smile of conversation, the whisper scream of the flies around this weak procession. Like a widow at a funeral, shades of embers veil my eyes. Haunted, skitter skatter visions flash in so many fragments across my pupils that my head aches. I scratch at my hands, trying to escape from the apprehension.
The lack of every one of my securities pushes me into a corner, naked and brittle. Stale air, already breathed by these foul creatures, empty rooms, stained with their stench. Paranoia overwhelms my bitterness.
In the end, it truly is completely my fault. I understand the discomforts of my situation, the "unique" conditions that are required. I should have known that this stranger nightmare would drown me in salt. I can not pull away from it so utterly defenceless. I am simply to weak. I am a creature of soft flesh and brittle bone, and I can see now that it was my mistake to believe I could build walls high enough to hide myself.