We’ve created a paradigm in our society

And are living in a culture made to function the same as a fragile glass lens

As babies, we don’t see what’s not there

So as children, we’re taught to pretend to see through it

While letting it see through us the same as a projection

Casting a living shadow, an imposter; our reflections

Or, all these other people we find ourselves surrounded by

People who are more than happy to go along with the program

Can’t you see?

The smiles on their faces?

That laughter in their voices...

But be careful!

The majority of people on planet Earth are fickle creatures

Who spook easily, especially in large numbers

And while the foundation we’ve built our collective situation upon

Is non-existent

The glue that holds our human world together is tacit in nature

And when challenged, will shatter; breaking the lens

But it’ll be people, not sharp shards of glass

That’ll cut you to pieces both literally, psychologically and spiritually

Take it from me, just look; I’m a walking open wound

Barney could feel the hot pavement baking his feet through the soles of his boots, as he crouched beside his Bronco in the blazing sun. He rose up just a hair, feeling the muscles of his thighs protest as he surveyed the street and sidewalk, squinting to see through the bright summer air. A sudden blinding flash revealed his location as his badge reflected the sun in a bright star of light. He ducked instinctively, and heard the zing of a bullet passing close by, feeling the breeze in his hair as his hat sailed off into the weeds. Maniacal laughter echoed off of brick and concrete, seeming to come from every direction at once.

"You'll have to do better than that, Tanner!" He shouted, cocking his head to listen for clues to where the man was.

"I just want what's mine!" Came back from somewhere to his right. Barney snorted, shaking his head. Tanner, Tanner. Was the man that stupid? Didn't he realize Barney knew him, knew what was going on inside his head? They'd grown up together, went to the same schools, the same church.

"I do appreciate a man with conviction!" He shouted, moving to his left. "But his mother swears he's mine!" He darted across the street, and fetching up against a corner, peered around it, to see the other man's back as he crept toward Barney's rig with a gun held ready in one hand. A small child hung from his other arm, head and limbs dangling limply. Barney drew in his breath at the sight, holding it for fear he would give himself away. Tears threatened, as his features screwed themselves into an expression of rage. If that lowlife had hurt his son, he would bring him all the way down to the ground.