'Can you hear them too? Their strange, maddening cries! As I saw them stand in line, and topple under their own weight I too broke inside. The ghosts of the evening held a queer power over me, and it is difficult to admit, but I believe I held a power over them. And yet - how was it, that when I rolled my eyes upwards and away from their sinful eyes, I developed a sense of longing, of foreboding, of sheer inhuman dread! Yes, they knew of my plight; like him, they chuckled at the futility of it all. Holding myself in these arms is too futile, as well as, also, and unnecessarily futile. It seems there is nothing now that will shelter me, I must find refuge in the nocturnal streets and sideroads. The moon, my only friend, I will set with its sleep and rise with its woe. Is this me? Is this him? Is this him? I have grown unsure over the months, and I am left with only one thing to do. Open my eyes.'
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