Eyes are hardened, tempered by some unknown and yet vicious fire. Lips are locked tight, roots buried deep, holding the earth with preternatural strenght, never to surrender their grip. Up above, contempt. Pure contempt. It came fast by the night, unexpected and unstoppable. Now we know what it means. Now, we feel it every day, in every waking hour. Sometimes, it makes me afraid, and it comes to me that, sooner or later, sooner than later, I'll be facing the firing squad again. Merely waiting - that's what I'm doing. No point in calling for help or screaming. We'll go on quietly, walking through paths unknown. Far away the sirens sing. Haunt me in the dark, they do, pulling me into the abyss. Their voices soothing, warm, comfortable, pretending the shadows are not evil, darkness is not oppressive, and everything is going to be alright. It never is.