BY, the wind goes. Time goes. We all go by, whispers and moments that flicker and fade into the endless void. You are falling, falling slowly, as the world and everything in it topples past you into the blackness. You know not how or why, but then your thoughts rush by and you are nothing. Perhaps you always were.

Wo do. We are wo. Wo is us. Wo is you. Wo is me. Wo is everything. Wo is nothing. Wo has devoured your soul. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Whisers slip through the night. Unnoticed. They are not silent, and they are not loud, if only because they are nothing at all. Meaningless and empty and nonexistent, sliding through the shadows and then suddenly vanishing before they can slip into the sunlight. No one misses them, because they were never there.

It's so cut, she says, and we know what she means. Its pieces severed, a tear in ...