Is it so hard to believe that it's possible to hurt me? Is it such a mystery the fact that I'm alive? I'm just like you and all the rest, I know this life is just a test. To prove ourselves worthy of the light or to prove that we should be damned to an eternity of endless night. Confronting my fears I step out into the crowd mingling my body with theirs, feeling for once as if I belong. I feel their warmth pressing down on me, surrounding me, and setting me free. Their blood flows freely as does mine, from every wound we've recieved throughout time. Conciously unaware of the deadly incantation being spoken as we bleed, as every scar is reopened revealing our broken bleeding hearts. We're so vulnerable, so consumed in the warmth. I feel my life begin to fade and fear starts to worm its way back into me. Terrified I try to run but when I turn I come face to face with a gun. Fearing now for my life I duck and the bullett hits a man's wife. She bleeds slowly dieing, ceasing to exist. Is that to be my fate? To die and never be remembered, to live but never know what it's like to exist?