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AS TIME PASSES, KOA WANDERS THE HOUSE. HE STOPS SLEEPING, BARELY EATS, DOESN’T EVEN READ THE LETTERS THAT OCCASIONALLY REACH THE HOUSE. THEY FORM A SMALL PILE NEAR THE DOOR, HIS MOTHER’S HANDWRITING BARELY VISIBLE IN THE DIM LIGHT. HE LIVES MAINLY IN HIS DREAM WORLD, WALKING IN AND OUT OF HALLUCINATIONS SO FLUIDLY HE CAN NO LONGER TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN DREAM AND REALITY.

ONE DAY, AFTER SEVERAL MONTHS OF STIFLING LONELINESS, KOA CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE. HE SPENDS HOURS PACING IN HIS DARKENED ROOM, THEN STOPS IN FRONT OF THE PHOTOGRAPH OF HIS MOTHER AND FATHER. HE STILL SEES THE SPOT WHERE THE DUST WAS WIPED AWAY ALL THOSE YEARS AGO, THE ONLY PLACE VISIBLE THROUGH THE THICK LAYERS OF GRIME. HE TAKES THE PHOTOGRAPH OFF THE WALL.

 
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