Nature's incessant voice echoed loudly across the flattened land ahead of my feet. It discerned me that everything was silent, but nothing was still. The trees rattled and shook and the only sound registering in my ears was the high-pitched yelp of violence; that of a person tremoring with sickness.
       An abruptness overcame me as I passed another's silenced steps on the pavement. I wondered if they could hear me or if I elicited nothing to the senses beyond blurred allusions and stout shadows just as they had. This made me feel aged and dirty, I felt myself become fragrant of rotting gardenia flowers, just like the ones my mother would bring me to smell from her garden in my adolescence. The eyes received a smooth and childlike vision, while the light of day reflected twisted lines and the dust of many years, as if my mind had grayed and peeled; these pieces taken as a memento by the strange noise of the universe.
       On a bench within close proximity to myself I sat. I turned to look all around and about myself but found only burning light. I struggled to correct my eyes, attempting to focus on crumbling and sedentary monuments. Textured and painted, they once stood as some sort of credit for the institution, but they have now absorbed confusion through the hands of those who touch them and turmoil through their gritted and glued teeth.
       As I continued to look, I developed specks of purple which paraded across my range of sight. The specks grew and shrunk in intervals, and moved in avoidance of my salty and dilated eyes. I had become just that. Spots, and burning light, and bleached monuments representing the inner-workings of an institution of doctors and teachers. I am the legacy of everything which nothingness can become and am limited to diagnosis and the gray color of my disorganized brain.