The great path to insanity began when the madcap laughed.
I stopped worrying when I realized I had begun a journey down a sole, never winding path of antique brick, overgrown with vegetation, moss, other rock, corruption, impurity. Little, tiny rock things laid in a single large line. And I walk down it until I cannot walk anymore. It is like a death march. I used to think I was on an escalator, but everyone around me is. I stay still, until I choose to move. In a straight line I go, down the lonely path. They are all the same, and not on the path. They are all the shame, not on the path. They are all corruption, not on the path. So I twisted my ankle against the pavement, until I heard a snap. Then I feasted, and walked on the path. How does this black grass grow here? It hugs the path and darts off in every direction from it. Perhaps I need to loosen up and keep a rigid look into the dark horizon. What's to sad about, I hardly knew him? I just took his his body, the one with the broken ankle and pale skin, and burned him on a pyre until I was sure he was dead. Somewhere I learned that if you give man fire he'll be warm for an hour, but if you light him on fire, he'll be warm the rest of his life. Except, he lives. I left him extinguished, uncertain of time, charred. He is weathered now, like me. What I think I am. Somehow an evil spirit cannot openly choose to kill a good friend. So I stood at a crossroads. To either side lie infinite lengths of waist-high black grass, stretching out to cover all entities in the mist and fog. So there I waited, staring into the sun that set over the front of the brick road, a charred man at my feet. I had distracted death to lead him away from this world, and left the burned man not afraid to fear. Only now as I walk alone I feel more alone. Because I couldn't bring myself to kill me.