Wind screaming, trees rustling, birds wallowing. The world indulged in this darkness. road signs staggering, black clouds consuming, grey shadows overpowering. Absorbed in habitual patterns. Wake up. Go to work. Come home. Watch television. Sleep. Wake up. Go to work. Come home. Watch television. Sleep. Living in this self-pampered reality. Caring for oneself and ignoring all others. Immersed in the same cycle, drowning in it. Flipping through commercials begging for change, but seeing the same thing. The definition of insanity. Driving past the homeless. Flipping through and driving past possibilities. Engrossed in this obscurity were a millions of small white doves flapping through the wind in hopes of redemption. The doves sailed across the dusty grey horizon. Gliding over and under cars, through and across stop signs, to the left and to the right of skyscrapers. Only these weren’t doves. They were papers. The newspapers of a man standing at an intersection attempting to sell these fragments of information. The spiteful wind propelled these papers out of this poor man’s hands. As he frantically dashed to gather what was left of his papers, a heavy wave of leaves trampled his way and aggravated the distress engulfing this man. He ran from side to side, holding his hat upon his head, struggling to put tiny pebbles on his now reduced stack of newspapers, with no relief. Cars drove by. Watching this circus animal performing his drama. Some glanced at him for a quick second, acknowledged his presence, and drove on. Others stopped a second, thinking to help this fellow, but received a call demanding groceries. Others did not even take note of him. They carried on with their own lives. While the white papers slapped against their car windshields. They drove on. Drinking their cup of coffee. The man stopped trying. Gathered the scraps that were left. And walked home. The papers that glided through the violent wind came to a gentle stop and floated to the floor where they were finally allowed to rest.