Artwork not connected whatsoever with work of fiction.

There was once one who drank from the air and ate from the flowing water, standing as a blackened cenotaph for all to see.

"Whatever dreams he envisioned, half filled portions would rise up and get swallowed up by the roaring winds, while parched dregs of what remained, not unlike cheap burned up glass, would crash down onto the earth with dull thuds, setting unkindly, causing vaporous smoke to rise up and choke the lower crusts of its confabulated and baked out surface."

One night, they called him wrong, and lured him out onto an empty field.

Softly he began, "It is high night when all wrongs are heavy, a great time for everyone to lie and die. Pray confound me if you do, but why?"

"He called me a liar and a fiend, but I am neither!" The leech friend complained.

"Ho, so you say, but what of me a falsity turned real? The truth you say, and with you no liar?" the leech thought.

"I cannot lie, and I certainly did not."

"I fed myself from my mind's eye, and my mouth tasted red sweetness."

The host concurred to both. Nodded to the other.

Beauty, beauty for all of you, haggardly niggards, regardless of how real it is.

"I want..." but, looking down at his feet, he could not continue.

The sterile earth, he knows, would have never lied to him in the first place.

Labels: sorrow