Beautifully sinister curtains drifted into animation with each phantom breeze that donated a splinter of moonlight in a seductive tease of illumination. Slivering shadows waltzed on their toes across the sharp forms of the room. Each form of surface bringing birth to alternative forms of light that sparkled like stars reflected of a lake. The beauty of this seclusion laid tinted only by the dishonesty that befell a corner in constant discomfort. There came the sobbing of a small boy slumped to a chair by my bureau. Upon further focus soon came the submission of dismay, why the shadows dared not cross path with the murkiness of the distress. For hidden from the reality in denial was a boy tearing out lump by lump his own internal organs. With a sobbing that indicated not despair, but despair in lacking of, as each meaningless organ greeted the floor with such casual insignificance. He stopped sobbing to turn and look at me, a pause that granted his hollow eyes the power to paralyse me in fear. He then screamed a scream that only an animal could rally, so emotionally raw in emotionless emotion, it burrowed within my reflexes, impregnating me with a comfort undisclosed to logic – he was me – he was always me - everything was me.