"What should I write?" Asked the boy.

The moth responded, in its own time, "Well," with a cough and a drawl, "it should be what you are feeling, I think."

A sigh escaped the boy, as he combed thru his hair with his hands and reached for a cup of coffee he knew quite well was empty.

"And what should I write if it's empty inside?"

"What's empty?"

"Me."

"IMPOSSIBE."

The boy rolled his eyes, uninterested in such details. "Neutral then."

"GREY perhaps?" The moth chortled, and the boy clicked his teeth impatiently.

"Then, if that is the case," said inbetween bites on the sugarcube, "perhaps instead you should wake up."

Destroy Once Done