Nowhere: 1

Nowhere: 15. Fifteen.

Little prince, you trudge up those steps with determination though you are riddled with anxiety. Afraid at nothing and everything, you find strength at the notion of halted depravity.

You lost prince, so full of resolve, you blind yourself to danger and catastrophe. Impending judgment will ignore your screams, and your loneliness will amplify the ringing.

Upwards, you march towards your fate, completely unaware that you are defenceless. Your lack of guard is amusing, little prince.

Poor, misguided creature. So unfortunate.

This act will pass. You too shall pass, little prince. Your stay has been a fleeting moment, your departure an eternity.

It is agony, is it not, little prince? That your efforts are wasted as much as yourself, that lurking above reflects what you have become.

Little prince, the truth is a self-fulfilling prophecy, a destiny written and arranged by the deranged like an alchemy of a petulant decree and an unbidden burden.

This is your overture, your encore, your prelude and postscript.

The bell tolls, little prince, and no one hears your pitiful, demeaning shriek as you fall, fall, fall into the chasm of decimated dreams.

What a disappointment you are.