“I need you inside of me,” he whined, desperation clinging to his words, “please, God, I need you.”

His hunger was unbearable, but still she forced him to watch while she finished- now visibly wet and dripping onto the counter. His desire grew insatiable with each moment. He wanted to succumb to his carnality, to have just one taste. She would punish him harshly, but even that was better than this agonizing wait. She was getting closer, and he wanted her to go faster- but to rush would ruin the satisfaction of waiting. Then, she was finished. The waffle iron beeped its monotone melody. He placed her onto the table, beside his coffee and a generous bottle of syrup.

“What a great breakfast,” he thought.

Lonliness is a sickness that gnaws at your insides. It sinks into your skin and muscles, cutting to the bone. Dreary darkness consuming you and working at the very fabric of your self. It makes you doubt your worth. Whether your worthy of love, happiness, life. I hoped and prayed to things I didn't believe in as my circle got more and more superficial. There was always a sensation that I was a more private person, but insults would be sent my way. I was a creep, a weirdo, someone who was inherently dangerous due to nothing I had done. Maybe they could feel my unhappiness and wanted to avoid it like the plague. My self-worth was at a low and I wasn't good enough. There was no future for me. Everything I had ever done was worthless and I was never going to be enough for anyone. Not for my friends and family. Not for the people I cared about. I wanted to stop suffering. I wanted to die. It stayed with me throughout all of my thoughts like my own dark passenger. Constantly there and whispering the terrible things.

"Everyone would be better off with me gone."

"I should do it now, while my brother is still young enough to no feel the grief from my death."

"My father deserves to feel how he failed me."

"I'm a coward for not actually killing myself."

I would spend nights staring at the cabinets of pills and the razors in the drawers of the bathroom under the sink. It drove me to have breakdowns as I tried to will myself to cutting. I couldn't do it. I was a coward for not making myself feel the pain that I should be feeling. I should have felt worse, I deserved to suffer more. That was what I deserved back then. That's what I thought at least. It isn't that way as much anymore. I can bare to look in the mirror again, I have depth in my friendships. There is hope in the future, plans, goals and things to reach for. I'm not stuck in a pit with no escape. I'm climbing the stair, even if it isn't a crystal one. I am going to keep going.

The wind returned. Growing stronger and bolder, the shadows began to dance, entwining themselves in the back and forth of the darkness in Eski’s eyes, the movements stretching to rip further strands of shadow from the edges of his consciousness, pulling them in to join the ecstasy; pulling him in to join the ecstacy.

Eski did not enter as the shadows did, he was far to experienced for timidity. Throwing himself like a drunk side to side, Eski pierced with talons of steel the solemn cloth on either side, an inadequate shield to slow the storm. He boiled about in the sea of people, leaving corpses of salt behind. Red strewn about, mingling with inadequate hosts that had once held it captive.

Please.

A single voice; a plea, joining the dance. Not a plea for mercy, a lie long forgotten, but for life. A simple song for life.

Please, more.

Joining the dance; the wind; the waves, the melody became a harmony; a single song now carried by two voices joined. Eski fell into step with the voices, the dancers, the Song. The sea of bodies pressed against him, straining to break him. Twisting about, Eski mirrored the shadows in his eyes, letting the wind blow him as it would. No longer utilizing talons of steel, he swept through the sea amid a boat of desecration, breaking down the walls of flesh and folly, and letting free the life inside.

Please. Please. More. Please.

And Eski gave them more. He gave them all. He gave until there was nothing left to give. Nothing but a single figure, standing tall amidst the remains of captivity. And Eski stopped.

And the wind blew.

The wind blew and raged and fought. The shadows danced. The voices sang. But they went unheard. The dancers unseen. The wind unfelt. And Eski waited. The eye of the hurricane, and he just watched the single figure. The figure watched him, motionless. Oblivious to the storm around. Like a leaf, the last one still on the tree at winter, the figure turned, and took in the world around him. A winter of red. Blood on snow. Blood on ice. Blood on steel.

Please. More. Just one more.

And the wind blew.

The figure did not see the blade; a talon of steel. He did not see the shadows in Eski’s eyes. He did not hear the song. He did not feel the wind. The soft wind in his chest, releasing the life captive inside. Letting the life come forth into the shadow, reflected in Eski’s eyes; Eski’s darkened eyes.

Thank You

Eski was done. The ocean was gone; the leaf had fallen; the winter had come. And the shadows came forth, like paint spilled in water, they gained color; they gained life.

And the blood on the snow disappeared.

Thank You.

And the shadows faded, now red, brimming with life; hopes; dreams.

Thank You.

And the last shadow disappeared.

And the wind did not blow.