There we were in the City of Ivasl; On the street lay a Drunkard, awake but fatigued. The name of the man was Roth; if we're to look into the eyes of the man, all you would see is exhaustion and sadness for that day his wife had left him for another. The man lay there, his depression overtaking him. The man had no support; he was nothing; he had no one to pull him out of his madness.

The man began to stand up, but he was still he was weighed down. He fell to the ground, dirt covering his face. Roth tried again, grabbing on to the wall. He leaned on the wall, his clothes ruined, still holding a bottle of alcohol.

Roth started to walk, his shoulder scraping across the brick wall. The wounded man was walking home, his muscles aching with every step taken; there was no hope in his eyes, only pain. No thought came to his head except to get to his home; all he saw in his future was emptiness, and there was nothing the could fill that hole.

Roth walked past a road and turned the corner, now only a few blocks from his house. The sound of people became less mumbled, and his movement was starting to stabilize. Roth lifted his shoulder from the wall and walked with a stumble. People walked past and whispered;

Angry began to develop in him, but he kept it in, holding back that anger, but the more he walked, the more people whispered, the more his anger grew. He wanted to shut them up, but he held himself back. For he was no fool to attack in public.

Roth walked to his home and shut the door. The night was still upon him, and he needed to sleep. Roth walks to his bed and still wears the torn clothes; the night may be cold, but there was no reason for him to waste any more energy. Roth dropped into his bed and faded into the darkness of sleep.

Roth slept in his home, cold and shaking. In the Man's Dreams, he was on the streets of the town, people surrounding him, all looking at him with disgust and disdain.

"Bastard, " they shouted!

"Fool," they shouted!

"Filthy," they shouted!

"Covetous Man," they shouted, with every word, they shouted the closer they drew closer to Roth. Until they stood above him, they grabbed him by the limbs and lifted him. They were carrying him to the center of the town. When they arrived, he was thrown to the ground and again—surrounded by all. Then the coward split, revealing his former wife.

"You harlot, you dare show your face in front of me, " Roth shouted, anger rising in his chest.

"Don't speak to me. You're a pathetic man with nowhere to go," the woman said. She turned and started walking to the crowd, but Roth grabbed her by the arm.

"You're not just going to leave after what you did to me," Roth said. Rage had overcome him; there was nothing more he wanted than to hurt her. Make her feel the emptiness he felt, but before anything could go further, the crowd pushed him back. Then they began throwing things at him.

After a while, Roth lay on the ground, sores and blisters coving his body. The crowd disappeared. The sky darkened, and rain began to pour down from it. Roth couldn't move; the wounds on his body prevented him from moving. The buildings around him began to collapse.

When the last building fall, all that was left were the townsfolk bodies the all littered on the floor. Suddenly the wind began to pick up; the clouds began to swirl around in the sky. Suddenly Roth heard a booming voice.

"Beware, Roth of you will do cause the death of any stop now," the words of the booming voice shaking the ground.

"What do speak of this is nonsense I will do on such thing," Roth shouted to the sky, on his knees.

"Pride will not help you, turn back, or you will surely die." The voice spoke again.

"You hold no ground in my life, begone," Roth exclaimed.

"You have made your own grave, Richardson," The voice said. A thunderstorm began to form in the sky. The sound of thunder cause Roth to fall back on the ground, flashes of lightning began to appear in the sky. The thunder grew loud, and finally, lightning collided with Roth's chest, forcing him out of his dream.