Look at the endless path of mirrors you walk down, stuffing your gluttony with the fabricated dreams you were told would always be achievable. Look in the mirror below you, and see the starving children clasping their hands at you, begging for just a scrap of a dream, so that they might sleep peacefully for once. You look above you, and see golden skinned gods with dreams that are so heavy, so tangible, that you think the mirror will shatter in any moment. You look ahead of you, seeing you, clasped hand in hand with a blurry faced figure, walking away from you, not listening to you shout as you want to know who you are. You don't want to look behind you. You saw something in that mirror staring at you from up front. Your eyes, so completely devoid of color, black pits of onyx that tore a hole through your heart just by seeing what might be. Behind you, a grayer version of you. Thinner. Looking down. He has none of the dreams you do now. Nothing floating above his head, no froth spilling down over his chin, no colors, no noise, nothing to show that he is alive. You turn away and cry out in the pitiful sobs that are the only thing you are capable of producing anymore, the first real emotion you've shown since you were in the mirror. The grey skinned monster that you were but never were, the dead ghost of the futures past, the bland, dry, **** flavor of the image, was wearing the biggest smile that you had ever remembered seeing.