part two. need to insert dialogue.

"gray skies put a dreary tint to a delusional idea of eden. it sent chills through the window, blue curtains, four walls, computer desk. white. white and simple navy blue curtains, all the personality could be seen in its imperfections, cracks, all there was to look at, the progress that could be found in deterioration.

morning light faded the red in his bloodshot eyes, nothing positive, only negative balanced out to a neutral white, a milky gray, the cracked prison walls, what's left of a life."

a slam of a door, a brief look at the watch, and a quick toss of a uniform was all she needed. no words, just 6:58, and a soiled and sewn piece of fabric. another slam of the door and the blank expression, the faded eyes were as white as the walls. all that stuck was 6:58, and an acute reaction, a split second thought about the hinging on the doors.

the darkness that crept in from the doorway only made his walls shine like fluorescent lights in an empty city. the fallen mirror she left behind lay cracked and shattered at his feet. he looked on at his reflection, a work shirt soiled but tucked in just right and a pair of slacks. his eyes lost in its shattered fissures, a spectrum of light twisted together to nullify itself to the absence of what gave it life.

he faded through the white prison walls as they were exposed for what they were, a spectrum of unrecognizable colors. a ghost on the same wave lengths as his surroundings, he faded in and out of walls before he learned to slip through their cracks. each step after the other in frames of motion, floating down the hollow stairs that lie on a foundation built upon a landfill. his parents; familiar echoes, chants from a chorus that repeated endlessly for his silent response.

he's inserting keys, the radio went on, engine rumbling, ignition...

"Unemployment climbs to 15%..."

foot on the gas....

"Polar ice caps have been reported to have receded.."

a puff of a cigarette, inhale, exhale...

"Riots continue in..."

a bunch of blank faces, empty stares, steady raindrops in rhythm and step to supply comfort to meet demand for this daily funeral procession, the morning and mourning whore parade.