The insidious scent of sulfur stung my nose as the match sparked up in my hands. The wick of the worn candle ignited quickly, longing to be used again. The dim wax structure illuminating the dark room, though, it is hardly bright enough to be deemed a light source. Long shadows crawled from every dust covered relic on the shelves, joining with the empty darkness I know lies behind me, and around each corner. The wee flame flickered about, as if the whispers of the walls tossed it to and fro like a leaf caught in a gust. All is silent. All is still. Nothing moves. Nothing but the shadows and the tear of light atop the candle. I know they are plotting. Crawling inch by inch when I close my eyes, only to scamper back to their positions when I peek. How they taunt me so, knowing that one day I will break. That I cannot lie awake forever. That I cannot defend while dreams dance through my head. Awake, I make my stand. A futile attempt of freedom from that which I cannot be freed from. There is no escape from ones own mind.