Doctrine to discipline: annunciation of words never spoken, affirmations seldom said and utterances mislaid. Solitude as sustenance for a subsistence not lived; solitude as identity protector, circumstance and dislocated plot provider. Submerged beneath crashing waves of that turbulent storm, that chaotic harvester, the unbalancing of a stability upon the mixture of malevolence and malice. Inclination, propensity: propelled vessel of harm rides swiftly when prompted by that viciousness directive. Or is it directed at all?

Resting beneath flora once more, she scratches paragraph from parchment choosing instead to marvel at the monument of nothingness before her. Returning to moments past she finds folly in furtherance, minding the hopelessnesses in future as she embraces the solace of a present self: if she indeed exists at all.

She gathered her things, of which there were none, as if any of it mattered at all.

Though falling prone to whimsy, she found herself pressed to the ground and imprinting the soil with her most horrifying memories, the ones that for so long she had kept locked in larders with missing keys. As she created document and diary with pages missing, she remembered more and more and so more and more was created and vanished. Memories need not only be enemies, she eventually concluded, they simply may be nothing at all.

She sat up and brushed away the dirt from her bodice, feeling all so much better after having pressed her shame and torment into the forgiving and welcoming earth beneath her. Rising to the full height of her potential, she began to walk towards nowhere in particular—which, she decided, is far better then walking towards nowhere at all.