Grey.

All that fills my vision is grey. A cluster of grey floats aimlessly across a grey ocean as grey smoke billows into a grey sky.

There I stand, the eerie tone of regret droning on in my ear, all thoughts dedicated to the grey wasteland that lay before me.

My steps echo throughout the stagnant air. And ever faintly, voices echo back. Voices of laughter, joy, and happiness ring. Until they fade into the midst of nothingness once more, the memories once again lost beneath the ruins.

But where else should they be? Had logic not been abandoned for the mindless pursuit of power? Had love not been abandoned for lives? Had they not destroyed everything they had, the laughter, joy, and happiness?

And for what, then, was all sacrifice for? What could justify such pain? Another drop of water? Another scrap of food? Another day?

Why? To buy another day, only to spend it fighting for another, is that not torture? So why, then, was that the reality they chose to live? They lived, slept, breathed it, believed it until the sole purpose of life was the cycle of torture.

Why?

My fists clench, yet I know that it is not me clenching my fists, but the sullen, depraved beast of me, worn down by the endless tradgedy.

Tears slide down my cold cheeks. Hot, wet tears fall and I am numbed by a sensation which I do not know. Is it sorrow? Is it grief?

Or is it a strange sort of sympathy?

I, too, long for the majestic roofs of green, the magnificent white sunlight sparkling from the bright blue of a lake or river or stream.

But gone are those days.

Gone is the laughter that once took the place of the emptiness.

Gone is the beauty that once caressed a soul, and left it marvelling for hours.

Gone is the love, which once took the place of the meaningless quest for time.

And all that fills my vision now

Is grey.