The Present. Wrapped in paper tearing apart plastic and taper; our surface selves. Placed on a shelf. Look within. Underneath the wrapping. Deceitful trappings open up to reality. What hasty duality it seems to produce... A casualty perhaps? Unmarked and brave they seem to cruise. Through jagged edges and barbed wire encased these souls are bleeding in vain. Geometric and calculated footage they’re in square areas defined. Segregated from population. Why and how they got here they do not know. A product of evolution; our hearts shutter. Can we really have free will? Are they really at fault?