Filled with schizophrenic mental seizures, he walks. Slowly, but negatively. Thoughts demented and mind scavenging; he looks up. Eyes sullen by the realization of complete futility of life and knowledge. Seizures never cease for him; in spite of realizing the futility. Virtues have become void for him, for he does not know what they mean anymore. “They are shallow”, he thinks as he walks. His walk, though slow, seems to have a purpose. He is searching for something. It cannot be within himself, as he has made up his mind that there is nothing within himself. It cannot be outside, if nothing is inside there is no point in looking elsewhere. After all, what is ‘outside’? It has lost its meaning according to him. As his walk gains more directional sense, it is clear that he wants to look at the mirror. He generally hates doing it, as it flatters him by giving a shape to what he is. “How can I have a shape when I am nothing?”, he thinks and gets irritated by this hypocrisy. But he ends up seeing the mirror now and then. “Irritation isn’t something bad”, he thinks. “What can not irritate?” he asks. “Everything can, and should” he answers to himself. As he nears the mirror, he is dreaming of seeing a void this time – he always dreams that before he sees. He is now in front of the mirror. Luck deserts him as it is supposed to, he still sees me.