ISAAC GRIFFIN WAS TALKING TO STRANGERS who he would never see again, and who hid their omens in their pockets and held fate in their hands. They were not aware of the fair and waning force that captures the destiny of spirits. Their voices all resonated with the same burst of unwanted secrets, only veiled by expressing them out in the open. They believed their hearts were shaped to fit the appearance of reality. Isaac told them otherwise and they laughed in his face. A homeless woman who was sitting and begging near asked Isaac, just as the sun showed itself between two clouds and a light wind brushed passed between the walls of their hearts:

‘’ Hey Mr, you got any change?’’

‘’ …Only the change of the seasons.’’ he said

Over the past few days, he had been over thinking. He knew the consequences of doing such a thing. His friends had mentioned he was looking rather pale. He was noticing things. The light reflected upon buildings became more intense, the smell of the sea became a newly discovered colour and the passion of the dawn became his own. He was becoming something that is rarely understood: Individual.

This is how it started: He was in a dead-end job, working in an office. His colleagues were without dreams and thus without life. No one ever really spoke to one another because no one had anything to truly say. They were horded like cattle into the pen of robotic order. . The office Christmas party was always an awkward event. It was a cemetery of lost sensations. Some went home together to find those feelings, but it only moved them further away from the sanity of their being.

Isaac would sip wine all night...