Product of Heart and Shadow.

The stones are piling upon the surface, collapsing lungs and crushing limbs. Who would have known that the body buried here was vulnerable to stone? To weight? Susceptable... to all...that the heart holds dear.

Panic set in, like a rat escaped from its cage. The forces of beauty and nature, and of storms could not contain the fate that befell him; the addiction was crying constantly, just wanting more. He fed the mouthes he made, the vice, like a child, latched on and would not let him go.

The stones are piling. Faster, as the Hand of God makes Its prescence known. The weight is daunting, crushing, squeezing the life out of his soul. The memories of before flash before his eyes, he cannot stop; his heart commands him- "Watch, for every smile you have planted upon your face, to coast by; every moment in content silence you had shared with her; every time you have ignored your duty; every wasted second spent on nothing. Watch for the choices that led you down this road. Watch for the broken glass from the dreams that you've shattered. Watch for the empty graves around the ground in which you tread. It seems like a lost cause, I know, but you are not yet dead."

The weight builds upon his chest, to the breaking point, his ribs bend inward. The bone begins to creak, but the stones begin to fall away.

Around his body lies a circle of Earth's oldest treasures, long cast up from the depths. His brow is slick and shining, his entire body drenched in sweat. What had once held him, like a child, barely visible through the lies, now lay in shambles, squeezed like juice, from the fruit of his soul. He stands upon the ground, barely breathing the cold night's air. The presence of the Hand is far away, beyond the place in which he stands.

The light of the moon escapes cover, and for one wretched moment he sees his reflection in a puddle of his tears. Broken, bleeding, sick, and in needing...of sutures...for the wounds are far too deep. His heart is pumping blood: seemingly enough to fill the seas.

He stumbles out of the cirlce that the stones have formed around this place...this place that is now hallowed ground in his mind. A place where impurity and shame was squashed from his heart. He stomped upon the flood of sin that had once been dormant in his soul; he kicked it, and beat it, because, even while his tears were mixed with it: he still saw his reflection- a freeze frame of his Shadow pixelated upon the ground.

The pool took shape: standing on two legs that perfectly resembled is own. And, even as he backed away in horror, he knew that this sickness before his eyes was merely a product of Heart and Shadow, a picture of fear and weakness...and it had his face...and that fact...made it that much easier to turn away.