The cell was dark and cold. Rusty bars caged the window like bloodied teeth, and the moon's light fell through the openings, casting a disfigured image on the floor. There was no wind that night, and the raw silence beat at his ears as he clutched his head in his hands.
They were imperfect hands, rough and unclean; callused and worn. His palms were smudged with the inky blackness of newsprint. Strands of greasy hair stuck themselves together as his fingers ran themselves through the tangled mess.
"I'm lost," he whispered mournfully to the moon's reflection. It stared back silently; mockingly.
"Shut up!" he snarled at the image, slamming his foot into the floor. The figure shivered slightly and then was still. It looked up at him and gave him a hooked Cheshire grin.
Standing up he cried, "Stop it! I told you to shut up!"
He ran to where the moon sat jeering on the floor and jumped on it, landing hard with both feet hitting the dead center.
"Die, god damn it, die!" He fell to the floor, beating the form with his fists, cursing it and telling it to disappear.
The wooden floor bit back at his hands and soon small carmine streaks appeared on the ground, painting it in vivid strokes. He raised his head and the moon cast its reflection onto his face, the fragmented image in his eyes. A terror seized his face and his pupils shrunk, taking the moon's likeness with them.
Standing suddenly he dove at the window, blindly grasping at the bars and clawing at them like a monster, his humanity pouring out with every movement of his hands, dissipating into the darkness.
"Leave me alone!" he screamed at the utter blackness and the ever silent moon, sneering at him from its perch, marring his face with its own.
He clutched at the bars and shook them roughly, the hard rust scraping against his hands and digging into his palms. The moon paled and its smirk was gone, its light dimming as a cloud passed in front of it.
"Tell me what I'm doing here," he pleaded quietly when it returned, "Tell me where I'm going."
The moon contemplated him for a moment, taking him in and considering him. Its gaping maw turned up slightly at the corners and a twisted grin flitted across its face. It could not contain its laughter and it quaked with the force of its gasping snickers.
"No," he whispered fiercely, "No!" He gripped the bars and cried out hoarsely, a strangled scream erupting from within him and choking the laughter of the moon as it shook with silent mirth.
Snyder whistled a jaunty tune under his breath, the notes bouncing into the air with a quiet sound. He paused outside of the cell, listening to the stifled screams that threw themselves at the wall and reached out into the hallway. A grim smile graced his weathered features and he continued on his way.
Pulitzer could not always change minds; but he could break them.
