Satan sitting in an armchair, opposite me (somewhat condescending in position, but at this point in time I don't argue), reaches for the bookshelf to the left of where he sat (a burnished throne). He picks up a dusty volume, blows the dust off of the leather front (of which turns into a mute fire, but this I don't notice either) and opens to what seems like, a random page. He reads, "You have lead an unfulfilled life: your soul is heavy, your mind is weak and your heart is cold. With the additional fact that for every dandelion planted, is one gram of depression you seem to have exhibited in your life (arbitrary, but this is another point I seem to swallow). You failed, Mr. McGovern." With this, the scene before my eyes paused into darkness. The only thing I could hear now were my heavy sighs, punctuated only by the irrelevancy of my lament- all to be serenaded by what I saw before me: nothing. Frustration built up inside of me; I was alone.