The Color of Madness

 In the day that I was born, all my days before me were bright with joy. Yet when my dear had died, it seemed to me as if some spirit had left me forever; for they who had borne me, nursed me, and loved me through so many years — how could I ever be the same without? And now that is gone from me, the world seems dark indeed; life means nothing but ache, and every day brings fresh affliction. What can there be in this world except sorrow? For my sanctuary was ripped out of arms by the same arms that taken it in themself. And then I saw him coming, and the thought came to me: "It is death — the end." No.. No! I would not believe it, no matter how he bore himself; for his face was always kind, and his voice gentle, and his eyes full of compassion. Have I been brought about Death's fantasy? Is it true? Would Death, the ultimate escape, truly be my imprisonment?