Where

It can almost feel like the air is preventing you from moving, covered in a tar-like plaster that gives you just an inch before freezing you completely.  And in this decaying mess is your drive to create some form of replacement for what impressed itself on your water-damaged skull.  Yes there is some good, some last-minute dive of empathy within these plexiglass walls.  But who would dare try to keep it in a space that constantly endangers its existence? There is no hope for its presence here.  It is as though someone took a flower that could only bloom on a mountainside and shoved in the bottom of some mosquito-ridden pond and asked it grow. This is the type of ineffable despair that grips this place like a lightning bolt, completely paralyzing any understanding of compassion.