He sat, paralyzed by thought. Paralyzed by betrayal, the betrayal of his own mind. He couldn’t control it anymore…couldn’t forget. The skies were dark, dark with maroons, and grays, and dim yellows. Swallows circled him, gliding over the grass in chase of tiny white moths. Like fighter jets they banked and yawed with precision. The evening was cool, summer closing its window on the Midwest. Soon the white will fly and the howl of winter will chill his bones, chill them more than the chill already consuming his soul.