There were chunks of expressions lingering all over the walls. Hovered over them the belligerently disquieting shadow of the blackened ticker, my heart. Dead, aloof, just not dead enough, for worse only. The tips of the numb hands stumbled over impressions the expressions had engraved; only to fail in conceiving what they had to tell. There was no resentment because they had never learned to. But there were my feet then, which had only known to escalade and never back down, carrying me to the universe parallel to my world in the cellar, equally, resolutely mine, or perhaps just me, stepping into which or being that myself, brought my senses to a halt and exalted my self above it all like it could make me defeat any adversary effortlessly, it did, it will, it belongs to Him, so do I. I'm a part of Him, too endearing for Him to let down even if I were a terrifically midget and almost an insignificant speck among those exhibiting tremendous grandeur and glare too glary for my eyes to even have a glimpse of.