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KALEIDOSCOPE Fall 2020
Florida Tech’s Fine Art Publication
Kaleidoscope@my.fit.edu
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STAFF AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Editor-in-Chief
Julia Winkler
Editors
Caroline Bless Akarshna Iyer Thomas “Banjo” Mathey Kyle Stead Daniela Tolosa Wendy Zhou
Faculty Advisors
Dr. John Lavelle Dr. Debbie Lelekis
To submit to Kaleidoscope, use our public form located at http://bit.ly/kscope-subform
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TABLE OF CONTENTS POETRY
PROSE
Me, Myself, and I
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The Seawall
A Place Called ‘Home’
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Life
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for once, i am not afraid
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The Night
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Tire Swing
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Apologies
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Hiraeth
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Br(ok)en
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Eldritch Promise
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The Forest Folk
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Moon Garden
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I am Black
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Balance
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Light and Dark, Order and Chaos
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Drink the Storm
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VISUAL ARTS Akarshna Iyer
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Julia Winkler
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Akarshna Iyer
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Lauryn Chomicz
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Me, Myself, and I? Daniela Tolosa
It seems easy enough, yet I falter. My happiness tries to include others, and I have lost myself to it. I don’t know who I am, but I’m trying to find her. I will one day find her. Learning selfishness, honesty, and delight. I have been able to find semblances and precious fragments. She seems fun. I can’t wait to see her again.
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A Place Called ‘Home’ Joseph Desimone
A place to call home, so happy and sweet Excited laughter infects those inside these graceful halls, Feeling your head start to bounce with a beat Happy and content inside these walls. These feelings don’t stay long, they never do Suddenly you’re a mess and all confused. These halls change colors to a darker hue, Leaving them all as you’re excused. Outside the home that’s sad and bitter Mocking voices emit from the dreaded rooms, Voices in your head nagging about being a quitter, Anxious and broken left with the fumes.
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for once, i am not afraid Isabela Cordero
i am the beaming sun they welcomed my warmth then winced at my light drawing the blinds i am a newborn doe stumbling on shaking legs i am failing to recognize these archers in hiding i am the lick of flames electric sparks on a match i am pinched between fingers extinguished into darkness i am a shipwreck forgotten in the waves five thousand feet below drowning but you you are the whisper of wind caressing my dancing feet in the glory of flowers in the miracle of new
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you are a steady heartbeat still trepidatious in the dark but we are bolder now tucked in the covers of night i am a porcelain teacup placed in your hands trying not to shatter and you you are an apostrophe arm stretched to free me from this life sentence
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Tire Swing
Richard Frederick Behind the last house at the end of the street was a whitewall leashed to a towering oak. I remember feeling unbound but still tethered, making oblong orbits over the forest floor, over and over ‘til the neighborhood boys, with bruises gathered from bigger bullies, chased me away, chased me up into a pine where I waited, patient, sap tacky, sticky limbed, ‘til the circling boys grew tired, or hungry, or both.
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Apologies
Kimberly Foley You apologized for kissing me too roughly. My lips curled into a smile, blood dripping from the cuts in my lips. My copper stained teeth grinned back at you. I apologized for having such fragile lips. You apologized for gripping my hand too tightly. Bruises formed around my knuckles, my joints popped under your grasp, and I stretched my tired fingers back out to you. I apologized for having such frail limbs. You apologized for embracing me too hard. My ribs cracked against your chest, my bones fractured at your touch, splintering to my heart. The air rushed out of my lungs and I fell limp into your arms. I apologized for holding on too long. You apologized for breaking my heart. Dark circles cupped my welling eyes, and crystal tears cascaded over the crescent moons. My heart pounded loudly, begging to not beat at all. I apologized for having such a weak heart.
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Hiraeth
Daniela Tolosa My hands can’t stop shaking. Everything I’ve given to build us up, gone. My worst fears are all fucking coming to light. The safety net I made by trading the years of my youth, completely slashed through and set a-fucking-blaze. The worst part is that I can’t even cry. Finally, I guess, after all the tears I’ve cursed and wasted, worrying about how I might have to leave my best memories and the remainder of my heart with you—or at least, the small part that hasn’t been coarsened and poisoned throughout the years—when I’m forced to move on. I had my eyes, my anger, and my defenses ready so I’d go down swinging, trying to protect us from anything that tried to hurt us, but I never wanted to look up and realize that we were compromised by one of our own. My throat hurts from screaming. I don’t even know where the sound came from. I didn’t recognize it. The feelings behind it however, have been there for years. I just never wanted it to be you.
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Br(ok)en
Lauryn Harris The pain churns inside and you’re the reason why. I no longer recognize what stands in front of me, your sight makes me cry. Perhaps our hearts will ache less if we just say goodbye. A pair of unique bodies but only one shattered heart, Now you’re with her, and we’re forever apart. Droplets of water stream down my cheek, the dark patches are now blue. I envy the way you gaze upon her, but my only thought is still you. Your touch sent shivers down my spine, I guess you were never really mine. The pinecone scent grows, and I feel you near. It’s all vanished, you’re not really here. You used to be as pure as a block of gold, I would’ve stayed by your side until we were grey and old. Those green-hazel eyes, deeper than the sea, They now lock on her instead of me. Emptiness fills my soul, the trust is no more. It was right of me to walk out the door.
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Eldritch Promise Alexander P. Keer
You lay upon the padded floor As lightning wreaks across your nerves Black-clad guards bar the door As the doctor prompts you and observes As lightning wreaks across your nerves You try to meet his stern demands As the doctor prompts you and observes But your flesh heeds not the dear commands You try to meet his stern demands You attempt to move the blocks of color But your flesh heeds not the dear commands Your skin takes on an uneasy pallor You attempt to move the blocks of color Your intellect the doctor does mistake Your skin takes on an uneasy pallor Each day is long and without break Your intellect the doctor does mistake In the eyes of all you are freak Each day is long and without break The soft embrace of night you seek In the eyes of all you are freak No more than a little creep The soft embrace of night you seek This night fitfully you sleep No more than a little creep A voice beyond disagrees This night fitfully you sleep A stranger from beyond plutonian seas
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A voice beyond disagrees To you has this fell being flown A stranger from beyond plutonian seas It speaks no words which man has known To you has this fell being flown Its strength and power are untold It speaks no words which man has known Yet within your soul its message is extolled Its strength and power are untold Of its might are you wary Yet within your soul its message is extolled And the world has been nought but exclusionary Of its might are you wary But long has been your torture And the world has been nought but exclusionary Your woes shall face a grim departure But long has been your torture Now the time has come for justice Your woes shall face a grim departure Now shall come a bloody solstice Now the time has come for justice The world shall tremble before thy wrath Now shall come a bloody solstice Soon vengeance shall thy hath
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The Forest Folk Anonymous
Seek not the forest folk for there is more than meets the eye. With their clever words and messenger birds they lure you past the sky. They grab your hand and sing a jolly song “Come dance with us, wee one,” They say and drag you along. The night is dark but your feet are light and as your eyes search the darkness you begin to feel fright. The tinkling laughs turn to shrieks the sparkling eyes turn to pits and on the music plays as your soles shred to bits. Your feet are not your own as they move along the forest floor. Music no longer plays and you forget who you were before. You cannot catch your breath and your soul starts to wither as the eyes in the darkness beckon “Wee one, come hither.” Seek not the forest folk For there is more than meets the eye. Venture into the darkness if you really wish to die.
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Moon Garden Ashley Beard
Dew drops slide from the ruby bromeliad flowers. Snail slime trails on the path stones Not unlike the tree roots through the garden: Its own synaptic nervous network. Cicadas breathe with the breeze, Singing about their easy life And their debt to the yellow sunshine Which is always giving without receiving. Two frogs chant across the dense ginger spirals. Dark insinuations bloom in their droning arguments Like little amphibian stormclouds. Appeasing the angry green shamans, the sky flows grey. Howling rain, unrelenting, bashes against the drooping Roses from phantom black skies. Bashing on the tin roof starts to dim, The garden settles with the scent of petrichor. The Moon draws back the curtain of clouds To shine upon her sister’s progeny.
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I am Black Gavin Smith
I am black and that determined my track A truth that was born from hatred that scares black mothers to the point that they fainted from the police shootings to the hand of a jazz players tuning A racist motion grew from the white man’s commotion a notion that resembles a boat’s motion we were taken from a land, no we were chosen I am black and that shouldn’t be my track It shouldn’t determine my track A truth that was born from hatred shouldn’t make me feel tainted black mothers shouldn’t have fainted but celebrated The fact we are graduating and cultivating A racist motion grown from an old man’s commotion shouldn’t be the notion that reminds of us of the old boat’s motion we might have been taken from a land being chosen to compete in a race were we have felt frozen but God knows we are his chosen So i am black and that has become my fact
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Balance
Patrick Banks Tangled beard like a confused ball of webs Curly hair like a Greek god His style is kind of odd, regular and complex His existence is consumed by contradiction A heart of pure water surrounded by a body of raging flames A slave to his mind but free from the world Clouds of indigo blue follow his trail When man finds balance and balance flees from gravity What will it entail? Will we fly to heaven or fall to hell? Is any of it even real? We perceive all that we need but what is all here in actuality? These thoughts run wild, but his existence is caged inside of an aging vessel.
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Light and Dark, Order and Chaos Alexander P. Keer
In this kingdom there are two faiths we keep One holds Light and Order most reverent One likes Chaos and lets the Darkness creep To neither dare we seem irreverent In Order can be found true perfection Claim the followers of the sacred light Yet to Order must free will make subjection So claim the critics of Light’s holy might Chaos is the source of all liberty Claim the followers of that Darkened path Who yet are prone to fall to anarchy And so incur the path of Order’s wrath Amongst these two a balance must be kept Let Light and Dark to Grey be overswept
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Drink the Storm Banjo
With weathered faces do mountains hail thee, And upon your arrival the seas wave To greet shifting sands moved by your decree, Which demands nature to bow in your wake. Regal Tempest, leave hearts in fear and awe Of your beautiful and destructive path That tears down the works of humans and God; For in your eye, all deserve this swift wrath. Fair Wind, fill breath with song and song with sound Heralding the feather-light dance of hope That your anger has passed; and peace was found In the gentle breeze that the wind chimes grope. Fervent Whisper, the trees croon as you sigh. Gentle Whisper, sing the world’s lullaby.
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22 “Green Desire”
Akarshna Iyer
23 “the vibe ”
Julia Winkler
Akarshna Iyer “Inner Beauty”
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Lauryn Chomicz “City Growth”
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The Seawall
Reese Van Putten The orange rays of the sunrise shone through the cracks in the clouds to give the horizon an appearance of a bright Hellish portal. The same sun struck the surface of the sea, but the impermeable water remained dark and deep. As impenetrable as the ocean, the Seawall stood gray and tall casting a long shadow across the city. Accompanied with each crashing wave was a terrifying echo that shook every rivet, weld, and beam holding the wall together. Lisa stood atop the Seawall. At 200 feet up, the ground was the only perspective that did not stretch forever. She looked forward and gazed upon the endless charges of waves, behind her was the city shrouded in smoke and smog, above were the shifting Heavens hiding secrets, and on either side was the wall. The wall, the Seawall, was the most endless of all. Even the largest cranes were crumbs on a plate when attached to the vast expanse of the wall. Lisa, along with all the other men and machines mulling as ants, stood atop the wall. Looking at the ocean gave Lisa a lump in her throat. She did not know if the feeling was sea sickness or vertigo, but she always felt disgusted with the ocean. Or the appearance of the ocean. She could not tell. She swallowed her nausea ans slapped her welder mask back on. All her surroundings became black save the white flame of her torch. Though Lisa could still hear the intimidating whirring and hammering and yelling, she only listened to the satisfying hiss of melting metal caused by her own hands. Lisa was able to complete an entire day of work without thought, she preferred it that way. She preferred to feel calm and bored. Her hands moved subconsciously as if separate from her actual body. When she first started welding on the Seawall a few years back, she was more attentive and careful not to make mistakes. After months of stressful yet monotonous work, she started to pay less attention and let the beads make themselves instead. The motion of emotionlessly kissing the metal with the torch and back off continued for hours until the lunch siren rang.
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For lunch, Lisa took the long and rattly elevator down from the wall and made her way to the park where she usually sat with Harold. Harold was another Seawall worker but on a separate section than Lisa. She did not know much about him other than he was 47 years old, about 20 years older than her, and he still drove a gas-powered car, but nonetheless his company was nicer than none. When Lisa arrived at the park Harold was not sitting on their bench, so she decided to start lunch without him. She watched the trees while slowly gnawing on a dry sandwich. The branches were still and the park was quiet. The sun emanated a drab gray light beyond the dark haze of the city, but the leaves still glittered a contrastive green. Lisa liked the park because it was one of the few places in the city with real trees. The rest of the city had syntrees- tall towers donning metallic limbs and stiff tendrils that functioned the same as trees but better. One syntree had the oxygen output of an acre of real trees, but to Lisa they were not better. Syntrees were cold and simple, none could match the handsome complexity of a realtree. Lisa felt secure surrounded by crisp bark and knotty imperfections. She wished she could plant a tree on top of the Seawall, but that was no place for one. Lisa became so mesmerized by a hanging bough that she almost did not notice Harold approaching her. He shuffled towards her and his expression looked especially aged. She simply gave him a nod and he sat next to her. They did not speak for several minutes, neither of them were very talkative, but then again no one really was anymore. Harold broke the silence with a sigh and said, “I have a son.” Lisa halted her grazing to wait and see if more solemn words would exit his narrowly-opened mouth. After another sigh he said, “He told me polar bears shouldn’t live in the city because they got small ears. It’s torture to them.” Lisa was taken aback by this quizzical statement, “What?” She questioned. She almost felt more shocked with the pitch in her voice as she had not spoken all day. “I told him there aren’t any more polar bears in the wild and they need to be in the zoos in the cities, otherwise they would all die and go extinct. He said they got tiny ears because they keep the heat in and with the heat of the city they get too hot inside. I told him they couldn’t go anywhere cold and he had a tantrum at the zoo.” Harold explained. He stared numbly and unblinking at his lunch box.
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“I didn’t know you had a son. How old is he?” Lisa asked after an awkward silence. “He’s young, he’s 9 but smarter than I ever was and ever will be.” Harold finally made an effort to open his lunchbox but did not pull anything out. “Y’know, it made me think of back when I was around his age. Everyone knew the world was changing and it was our faults, but the politicians denied it and no one acted on it. And then when we did start acting it was too late. We didn’t have no skyscraper-high Seawall protecting the cities from rising tides when I was a kid. We were told it was coming and we knew it but only a little bit did we know it. Maybe it couldn’t be stopped.” Lisa thought she could hear a shake in Harold’s voice but she could not tell. She had never seen him act like this before. Her heart hurt for him. Harold finally turned to his lunch after he shook his head and murmured, “I just don’t know.” They ate in reticence until Harold stood, gave a lazy wave, and walked off. Lisa left shortly after to return to her station. For the remainder of her shift she felt uneasy. Her eyes were shifty and she felt hot in her overalls, and with the constant crashing of machines and waves she wanted to crumple up like an aluminum can. She was able to relax a little by focusing on her torch, but the flame was blinding even behind the mask. She felt this way for a long eternity before the siren rang at the end of the workday, in which she hastily returned her tools and boarded the elevator for the fourth time that day. When she finally made it to her car and started driving away she realized how exhausted she felt. Her muscles were finally able to relax in the worn-out driver seat of her hybrid, but her mind could not rest. ‘The polar bears have small ears, it’s torture to them,’ she kept thinking. Those words and every other word Harold said was ringing in Lisa’s skull, along with the ocean and the hammers and the syntrees - so cold and gray. Amongst a dense cluster of slow-moving cars on the highway, she drove around a bend and then came to a complete stop due to the sitting traffic. In between the smokestacks and skyscrapers that bumped against the highway, she saw the setting sun. There was no color. The sun smoldered amidst the smoke and smog, casting black rays like Persian arrows. And she wept. She wept as cars crawled past and
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struck their horns at her unmoving vehicle. She knew they should all be filled with despair too. If they are not blind now, they will be soon. The sun is setting, what is left of it.
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Life
Holly Vinson What is the meaning of Life? This is undoubtedly one of the biggest mysteries of the universe. But for one simple question, it has both too many and too few answers. No branch of science or philosophy can truly define what “life” is. Of course, science does tell us that we’re a bunch of cells that form together to make a physical being known as a human, while philosophy tries to tell us we are more. Life is both insufferably long and incredibly short, so what exactly are we meant to do? Religion is meant to give individuals meaning when they believe they belong to a force greater than themselves. Christians devote their lives to reading the bible, following the commandments, and praising Jesus. Their purpose is to die and ascend to heaven. But what about the non-religious people of the world. The ones who are too aware of the world to know that no God exists and the ones that have been beaten down and broken to the point where they don’t believe anymore. What is their purpose? The atheists of the world don’t have a large mythological figure in their brains to tell them what to do on a daily basis. They have to figure it out on their own. The modern world has set standards to society of the 21st century. You’re supposed to go to college straight out of high school, graduate with a superior degree, get a job, get married and have kids, retire after decades of labor, and die at the ripe age of 85. This is a very easy outline to follow, it’s simple and to the point. This is the basic blueprint that teenagers are taught from their teachers, their family, and television. The real problems lie between the lines. What college do I go to? What degree should I study for? What career path am I working towards? What sort of work do I want to dedicate my life to? Where will I settle down? Am I ever going to have a family? Where will I be when I’m 50? Will I have a retirement plan? When and where will I retire? Will I have a loving family to take care of me? What is death? And when I die will I be satisfied with the life I lived? The expectations of the modern world are hard to follow, but it’s even more difficult when the loved ones in your life have those same expectations. They want the best for you because they care, and the best to them is a 6 figure salary, a warm bed, and plenty of food. You feel
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obligated to make them happy because as a child you always strived to get their approval. This carries over into adulthood as you struggle to please them. The problem is that we are not made of clay. Certain people in our lives try to mold us to a figure that is pleasing to their eyes. This doesn’t guarantee that it pleases you, and it’s up to you to decide whether it’s time to accept that you can’t please everyone. At the end of the day, you should matter more. Individuality is a choice, and it takes courage to make this choice. To be willing to break out from the prison of the world’s expectations and to accept who you were meant to be takes a lot of bravery. It’s a huge spiritual quest, accepting that you can’t fix everything, accepting your flaws, accepting the daily challenges you face. Life can be a struggle, but you must believe in yourself if you want to take the steps on the right path, a path that is chosen by you and no one else. You decide who you are and you live every moment the best you can to achieve happiness. You’re going to make tons of mistakes, much to the displeasure of you and the ones around you with high expectations. You’re going to find that all the rules are meant to be broken, that the blueprints to life that you’re given are more like guidelines to help you find what you truly want. What is the meaning of life? There’s no specific answer, but to summarize all the possible answers into a single sentence: Life is about finding your own purpose and doing what makes you happy. This ambiguous definition is unique to all individual human beings on the planet. Just like a fingerprint, no two are the same. Your purpose may be sitting at a desk doing math problems all day. Your purpose may me writing stories about a boy’s adventures at a magical school. Your purpose may be fighting for wildlife and preserving the habitats they live in. Your purpose may be filming videos on the internet and influencing the daily lives of your viewers. Or maybe the number 42 is all you need. It all sounds cliche, but when you’re moments from your final breath, will there be anything holding you back, or will you live a life so full that you’re ready to be set free in the next mysterious adventure that is death?
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The Night
Kaimakani Tavares He had caused a scene in the bar. One too many drinks some might say, but those that really knew the truth knew that this behavior wasn’t out of the ordinary. Even if they did try and cover it up. He had thrown glasses-empty and full of liquor-and a couple punches here and there, not caring who they fell upon. They had to team up in order to subdue him, clinging to him like maggots to a carcass. They brought him down to the hard wood floor, sticky with alcohol and footprints, and pinned his hands behind his back as he shook with anger and yelled out obscenities. Everyone in the bar was ashamed to look his way, their faces hot with embarrassment, but they couldn’t resist. He was shoved out by the owner, pushed into the empty, cold streets. The door, open just long enough for him to turn around and glimpse inside at the crowd, slammed shut and now he was isolated completely. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He looked up at the sign, glowing neon baby blue it read:
Tapz He scoffed at it before turning his back towards the bar. He didn’t need them and he didn’t owe anyone anything. He crossed the street to get as far away as possible, the barrier growing larger than ever before inside of him. He shoved his hands inside his pockets and looked down at his feet as he walked, he was feeling dizzy and focusing on the ground helped him to walk straighter. There was no one out on the streets tonight, which was surprising considering it was a Friday night. He had assumed the shops and restaurants would be teeming with socialites, young couples and bored rich bastards. Perhaps he had been buried in the drinks so long he hadn’t even noticed there was never any life here. He wasn’t sure how long he had been walking, all he knew was that he had grown
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cold and he felt agitated by this. Frustration bubbled in his throat as he realized how vulnerable he felt. Too bad he didn’t have anywhere to go; all he could do was walk. He walked so long, until his legs became stiff like icicles and his brain was pounding, ready to explode out his ears. He decided to stop for a moment and sat against a wall. He looked up across the street and realized he didn’t recognize his surroundings. A poster plastered on the building across from him read: READY TO BE SAVED? He didn’t understand why it was done in blood red though. As if they were threatening you to change. He shook his head at the sight, but that only made his headache worse. His head fell into his hands as he winced in pain, and unknown to him, regret He wasn’t a good person. For years he had been drowning his guilt in drugs and alcohol, destroying any connection he had with other people. He was easily angered and defensive and hadn’t let a day pass without starting a fight. He had lost his home and his family, a beautiful wife and 2 daughters who looked just like her. He tried not to think about them, tried not to imagine what things could have been had he not succumbed to his addiction and bad temper. Tried not to think about how he liked hurting others, especially those that had loved him. All his life he had taken kindness for granted and now, in his darkest days, that became more apparent than ever. He was too stubborn to change, felt at first that it was his right to be a man, and now, that he deserved this pain. He had been in his own head for as long as he could remember, and that was the most dangerous place of all. He looked up again when his headache passed and noticed that there was now a figure standing across the street. He couldn’t make out any of their features, but was sure they were staring at him. It gave him chills and this made him mad. “What are you looking at pal?” his words were more slurred than he had anticipated. The figure just stood there, seeming larger than before. “Just keep walking, don’t want any trouble do you?” he continued, but he wasn’t so sure of himself. The figure took
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a couple steps forward until they were under a streetlight, and at that moment he had wished he never left the comfort of the familiar street by Tapz. He didn’t know what it was. It was covered from head to toe in a black cloak, it looked so heavy. Only its face could be seen; chalky white on every inch except for underneath the eyes where the skin was ashy and gray. Was it a man? Was it even human? The eyes glinted under the light, black and round. He couldn’t believe it, refused to, and rubbed his eyes as he used the wall as support to stand up. The figure was still there, growing larger still, it seemed. “Who are you?” his voice shook, came out hot; panicked. The figure turned away and walked, no, floated, smoothly to the poster and raised an arm towards it. The sleeve of the cloak fell down, exposing bony white fingers. It didn’t even look like there was any meat on them. Those fingers pointed at the poster that read: READY TO BE SAVED? Then the figure turned towards him and pointed accusingly before shaking the pointer finger back and forth as if to say “not for you.” He watched in horror but couldn’t move as the figure glided towards him, and before he knew it, they were face to face. He felt colder than ever before and was sure he was coated in ice. The figure croaked “your time is up” as his mouth began to open wide, growing, and when he looked inside he saw everything that hurt, an endless sorrow. “No more chances” the figure said again, but the voice seemed to be coming from everywhere. He had wanted to fight back, defend himself, but he knew this was how it should be. “No more chances. No more chances…” and it kept repeating; growing more warped each time. He left this world with tears streaming down his face, twisted in an expression of fear and desperation. He left this world with nothing. His body was found the next morning by a runner, who after this, vowed to never run in the city again. When the officials got there they examined the body and determined it to just be natural causes, too afraid to admit that his expression said otherwise. Heart attack, perhaps.
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One of the officers looked up from the body and across the street, noticing a poster and what appeared to be a homeless man sitting under it. He tapped one of the other officers on the shoulder, “hey didn’t that poster used to have words on it? Kinda odd for them to put up a blank poster isn’t it?” The other officer just grunted and moved on, clearly unimpressed by this observation. He stared a little while longer before turning his attention toward the man who had been sitting under it. A deep disturbance stirred within him, but he figured it would still be good to question this man, so he crossed the street, pen and pad in his hands. “Excuse me sir, did you notice any usual activity in this area? Have you seen this man before?” The man stared at him with his black eyes before turning them up towards the poster. The officer followed his glance, but the poster was still blank. The man spoke, “people die, I guess. How lucky.” The officer looked down at him, feeling flustered. “Yea. Right. Er, sorry to bother you.” He turned away to walk back towards the body and caught a glimpse of a large, dark figure over the dead man’s body. He shook his head and the next moment, the figure was gone. Maybe his work was finally getting to him. He sighed and looked at the body one more time, and in a moment of clarity, felt relieved it hadn’t happened to him.
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