Despair doesn't see a future.

Ruin scatters across a broken field of dreams, surrounding him with cracks and thorns. Inky clouds weep scarlet droplets, presenting stormy circumstances. Hatred poisons the air, bitter like black coffee. Naked feet are massaged by miniature earthquakes; the world shifts and wavers, just like his life.

"Stop trying to help!" he spews out, the words like verbal lava. The blood of his comrades rains harder, soaking into frizzy locks. His glowering face is painted as a nightmare. "I don't need shit from you, leave me to rot!"

Wind nips at his skin, biting at long-term scars and brittle bones. Sobs rack from him, disrupting his protruding ribcage. Malnutrition has taken a toll on him, alongside other downfalls.

"Stop trying to help!" he growls. "You're only fucking things up even more! Leave me to wither and die!"

A tall sea rises, threatening to drown him out of his miseries.

"STOP SAYING THAT I'LL GET OVER IT!" he screams, his anger projected toward the sky. "STOP SAYING THAT MY PROBLEMS WILL GO AWAY, STOP TOSSING FALSE PROMISES!"

Thunder echoes a warrior cry and lightening flashes.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP! I AM NOT GETTING BETTER, I WILL NEVER GET BETTER!"

The waves crash.

And all he sees is red.

He is Despair and he's a pile of shit.