Grey Sheep

A conversation between two unknown entities.

“The air is heavy with despair

Four cold walls trap what isn’t there.”

“What isn’t there?”

“Yes, there’s nothing there. Does she really count as something if she is just an empty husk pretending to be human.”

“I wouldn’t say pretending-“

“You wouldn’t? I would, because how can something so empty of joy call itself human?”

“She’s just weary.”

“Weary of what? She has nothing to be weary about.”

“Minds do what mind do: they think. Her’s does so a little to much, tugs her towards the brink of self-destruction.”

“Perhaps…”

“She wishes to rest.”

“…”

“A walking contradiction. A husk, yet so full of life. It dims by the day. Each long night is another drop of water on her flame.”

“I see.”

“A herd of black and white sheep in a field, and she is the grey one.”

“She does not belong?”

“I did not say that. Although she is grey, she is still sheep. She is where she belongs, in the shepard’s field, and the field knows this. It is fact.”

“She, herself, does not know it as fact.”

“But she will.”

“And what of the other sheep?”

“The other sheep? What about them?”

“Do they know this as fact?”

“Does it matter? Black sheep, white sheep, grey sheep, they are all one in the same. They are all sheep.”

“Still, she believes that she does not belong with any.”

“Then let her find other grey sheep; let her form her own herd, and be accepted into their’s. Maybe one day she will finally allow herself to graze.”