He toiled in the soft dirt and brushed shapes and lines into it. The drag of the stick was the only sound. The atmosphere strutted silently shadowing down upon the lost and lonely soul. He had no friends. He had no family. Only a strong enough hope that all this dark and relentless pain and suffering through which life has taken it upon itself to wish-wash the condemned and passionless into a lifelong set of fear and confusion would eventually dissipate into the wind. Someday soon it will all blow over. The sun glistening it's orangish hue over the horizon will shine a light upon the solution of which everything will be disregarded and no longer hold value. If only for but a moment he could feel that. Just for a second. One measly second. That's all he asked. A moment where all the worries and the frustrations that colored the pages of his life book with nothing but black and gray will soon reveal the color rays we've oh so come to love and enjoy. This life has been nothing but a disappointment. The struggles have to be a sign. A gateway to the boundless reaches of effort and glory to which a man can say he conquered the wraths of discerning lies and misleading. Tidal waves of hate and intolerance that caused his brain to flood with discouragement. It all means something. It HAS to mean something. Why would it be in existence if it wasn't meant to be? Many don't get the opportunity to view the darker side of sanity, something we all fear one day we may lose as if we lose ourselves. This, can only be a sign.

It just has to be.