Their faces haunt me. It is as though they can see right through my skin, right through to what I have worked so hard to bury so very deep inside. Their eyes blink, but never close. It is as though my very thoughts are being examined, without me ever needing to speak a word. When I look at them, all I feel is an unexplainable, infinite sense of guilt. I look out over this see of faces, and all I see is the ones that those before cast out and left behind. I look into their eyes and I see so much, so much more than I ever see in any other eyes.
Nothing I do can help them, and nothing I do can erase them from my mind. These are the boys and girls whom no one understands. These are the children for whom help is no longer an option. These are the victims of a world they know so little about. These are my brothers, my sisters, my people. Even the rising sun cannot bear light upon their faces, for there is too much dark.
In truth, these are the strongest souls on this rock we call home. They are the ones who were abandoned from birth, and only ever sought love. They seek peace and unity, but the very ones the seek friendship with fill them with disappointment and bitterness. Do not be fooled: they are never angry. They do not have the capacity, nor time, for such things. They simply wish to be happy. The haunted simply wish to be rid of the demons that have possessed them for so long. They simply wish to be free. No level of psychology or psychiatry can pull them from the dark recesses of the mind. They are the apprentices of the darkness, the slaves of the silence. They are, and always will be, the beginning of the end. For as long as there is pain in the eyes of the innocents, no soul can truly rest sound. As long as there are haunted souls, no man can live.
