As I put my hands against the glass, the cold glass, a hand on the other side of the glass follows mine, it is not a reflection, they cannot be because they are not human. I look upon the face of the mirrored me, but it is not my face it is a face of a monkey, it's eyes are filled with loneliness and sorrow, not the kind of sorrow that you see in someone's eyes after they have seen death, but sorrow of pure suffering. Suffering that would haunt that poor animal forever, that would haunt me forever. I can hear my mother calling my name in the distance, but I do not respond, I do not want to leave the sorrowful animal alone.
