His scalp still tingles from being held up by the hair. But more than his head, it is his stomach that is causing more concern. It turns over and over in waves of nausea – the kind of nausea that reaches the eyes and throat.
He now knows that it is a curse to be able to see through walls. It is a curse to see the private lives of those he used to respect, and now he knows how grotesque a person’s private life can be.
He wonders what happens to those who hide, and are never found again.
What disgusts him even more are those who don’t hide, pretending as if nothing’s wrong. They mourn the death of things that have never been alive in the first place, and their tears make his ears burn. They’ve lost their shame, and in turn, have lost the ability to discern right from wrong.
He is certain that they’ll sleep well at night. They will get up the next day, eat well, and be merry and full of sunshine and laughter. They will think he’s crazy when he starts tearing up his clothes and bathing in ashes, but even if doing these things doesn’t stop the bile from rising to his throat, he knows that he has an audience, and someone who is always listening to everything he has to say.