I stood there staring at the masses. Collected off the streets, with crumpled papers slipped from one hand to another. They did their job well. Stood and appeared mournful, drabbed in gray and solemnity.

I close my eyes and scream towards the sky.

I open my eyes and nobody's looking. That's okay, I never really screamed.

It's my turn now, and I step forward, approaching the velvet-lined casket. Gazing down at the woman gazing up at me. Funny, she doesn't "look so peaceful." I think she wants to cry.

I take pity on her, and reach my balled fist in to shatter the mirror held there.

I think I heard her whisper 'thank you,' I remove a shard of glass from my hand. The blood pools there and smells like cool, moist roses. I let mt hands fall limp at my sides, sending a mirror fragment and a drop of crimson to the earth. I fall back, wanting oblivion,

and keep falling.

But only a few feet. I've landed in the hole they've dug. My back adjusts to the cool, loose soil and I wonder, Who was this for? Who was that woman? I think I've seen her face, but it's different somehow. I think she's changed from the last time I really looked at her.

Yes, this pit is hers. I'm tresspassing, aren't I?

But it's so comfortable where the sun is filtered through that little blue box I'm seeing as I stare up. So calm and quiet.

I reach with hands that aren't there and pull a soil blanket over myself, closing my eyes, inviting darkness,

and then I awaken in my bed at home, reeling from these night visions.