A single thought, bearing all one?s anger, let loose upon society. Puppets hanging from the walls, bleeding regret. All that?s left of society, what is life?

Some say it?s a gift from god, others, a curse, and a punishment for sin, when what we call death is really our sacred gift. No one knows for sure. A creaking of the stairs behind you could result in two roads. One, being your parent, another being a stranger, sinning? or is he?

He might be doing you a favor, taking you out of this hell with some lead and a metal slingshot. As you walk out into the streets for an evening stroll, you might feel a cold breeze, what could that mean?

An omen hinting at fate or the ashes of the dead prodding at your back? As you curl up in your bed, you stretch the blanket over your head, think that that will save you from the corruption seeping into the room.

The paint peels, the branches tap the glass, the dog barks. What have we built? Deliberately scaring young children with silly fears, or are we preparing them?