Nightmare

         Everywhere I look, I see emptiness: empty walls, empty faces, empty minds, empty hearts. All I see is grey, empty relationships; grey,

empty minds; grey, empty hearts. These people surrounding me, these grey, empty people, they have no hope. They are dry; like clay left in the air,

like plants left in the sun, like hopeless left on their lonesome. They need love, and life, and salvation, and hope. They are grey and empty, and I feel

such pity for them. They are hurting, but nobody understands them. They are alone even in crowds. they are afraid of being ignorant and foolish, but

they cannot teach themselves. They fear me, and I fear them, becoming like them. So little separates us. I move closer to get a better look, and they

lean forward, too, studying me as intensely as I study them. It is in that moment that I realize I am surrounded not by strangers, but by mirrors. And I

know, then, that what I most pity, and fear, and hate, is myself.