1.

Again, no title. possibility for a book.

 He looks into the shattered glass before him as if what happened..didn't. His past, present, and future is reflected before him in the broken mirror imaging his visage. He continues to look--desperately, pleadingly, as if in reflection of the past occurances. But what he sees is marred, as his mind is caught up in what existed before the glass had shattered and the gust(s) of wind had blown it all away. Now his longings dwell upon his own imagination--his dream world where he can relive those times--where he can go back to the place he was before life in the form of a tornado had blown it all away. He finds comfort in the soft and sweet memories which touch his senses as from his lips, partly open, comes the sound of slow breathing. It is the first time I have ever seen him sleep--have ever witnissed his contentment, deep and truefound. His sleep is his comfort, is how he is able to survive, which is why it is a rarity.