the sound of footsteps, made more obnoxious by the sharp slap of flimsy plastic sandals on the sidewalk. voice is hoarse and sometimes words don't come out, all the better when the thoughts should be kept silent. walled in, sealed off without air, or water, or food. left to die, but fed by the adrenaline rush courtesy of the images that your own shadow casts on the walls. you can't kill it, maybe you need it there.