Here is a piece of paper, unstained, cold and crisp. I tore it in half, in fourths, gripped it grudgingly in my fist and put it in my mouth. I chewed it. It tasted of dreams and sunsets of long ago. Also of revenge, of ink and of the tears I bled when the werewolf's fangs plunged deep into my flesh. I taste the chilly nights I spent on the alleys unfamished, only to be waken by the phantoms who stole my sight. I taste them, their spite, the petals of corruption, the wrinkles of their greed. I could taste the man who spoke truths in old whispers, and the woman who cursed at romance's feet. I could taste the anthem of the souls who screech for justice. I could taste the chemicals that the scientists injected into the whimpering guniea pig. I could taste the end of the world.

Here is a piece of paper. Chew it well.