He was staring at me through the mirror, his ebonlock hair wrapping around against his neck in perfect curls that hung below his shoulders. His big, bright hazel eyes penetrated the sphere of my existence and I heard his voice shout unto me - and he said, "Peace is a dream, and dreams are for sleepers."
I am awake. I am alive. I haven't breathed the stinking hot air of the truth in so long, if I ever really had before now at all. I have no sadness. I suffer no loss. I am not surrounded by the weak, the fools, the dogs that bark but never bite. I am not helpless. I am not alone, but I am on my own. The wasteland is vast. And at night while the weak are sleeping, sleeping in their dreams of peace - I am watching their cities burn.
It feels so beautiful sitting by myself out here in the cold.
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