All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces.

It is said that the truth lies just beneath the surface but when the word 'truth' is followed by the word 'lies' then I cannot help but have my doubts. If the truth lies then nothing is what it appears to be, nothing is real, and no one can be saved.

When you see things out of sync, out of order how can you indeed decide what is real?

Everyone is hiding something, something dark, something frightening, and something they want no one else to know. Ask yourself, what am I hiding? If you answer that question with the word 'nothing' then you are lying to the world and lying to yourself and if the truth lies, then you are also telling the truth, so which is it? Are you being truthful? Or are you just telling lies? Time has come for you to end the lies. Time has come to find the truth.

Whatever truths are being told, there are being followed by lies. Whatever lies are being told, there is truth hiding in there somewhere, looking for a way out. Discerning what is what can never be an easy thing.

Do you dream? Tell me what do you dream about? Flowers and sunny skies? Or dirt and rotting corpses? Maybe you dream of something somewhere in between? Maybe you exist somewhere in between and indeed nothing is real and very real at the same time.

I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.

In those dreams of yours, what skeletons are crawling around, searching for a way out? Better watch out, they will find their way if you let them. Maybe one or two have escaped already and are hiding behind the couch, hiding under your bed or better still, locked away in your closet just waiting for the perfect moment to go roaming and let the world know about all of your dirty little secrets.

You do have secrets, everyone has secrets. Can't have that, can we? No, we definitely can't.

Hello teacher, tell me what's my lesson? Look right through me, look right through me.

Imagine having the power to see through the lies, no matter what anyone tells you, you will see the truth. When someone blatantly tells you a lie, would you call them on it? Or just let it pass? Depends on the lie itself, one may imagine.

Imagine something a bit more than that. Imagine something like a second sight, an ability to see things as they are and as they were.

Harold Pulte returned home after his first full semester in college and for the first time experienced something to which he could never have been able to prepare himself for. Before even reaching the door to the family home, it hit him.

Flashes in his head, in his mind, flashes of blood, flashes of death, flashes of horrid events. Something bad has happened. The door is open, it shouldn't be open, why is it open? Harold moves inside and is immediately hit by the smell of stale air, stale air tinted with the smell of something else, tinted with the smell of blood.

Calling out for his parents, Harold ventures forwards. He moves from room to room only to find that he seems to have the house to himself. Still calling out for his parents he begins to journey upstairs, and this is from where the stench emanates. In his bedroom and his bedroom only there is blood, a lot of blood, blood on the walls, blood on the floor. The blood has dried somewhat and has become sticky. Something very bad happened here.

It would appear that no one has been here for some time. Where are Harold's parents? Back downstairs he goes. The house landline, located in the kitchen, has been disconnected. Harold moves into the living room and there is something now within this room which had not been there moments earlier.

This item takes up a large amount of space for what it is just so happens to be a coffin. There is a body within the coffin. Harold moves closer, the body within the coffin is his own. What? How can this be?

The room begins to spin, slowly at first and then quite fast. The spinning comes to a halt as quickly as it began, and Harold needs to catch himself. All the spinning has made him dizzy despite the fact it was not he who was spinning.

Harold is no longer indoors; in fact, he is all of a sudden at the town cemetery. He stands at an open grave site. Down in the dirt there is a single red rose. Engraved on a tombstone standing at the top end of the open grave is the name Harold Pulte.

While staring at the tombstone, Harold is sure he can hear a voice call his name. The voice belongs to his mother. Harold stands in a trance like state on front of the house to which he lives. He has yet to enter; he had not entered at all. His trance had led him to believe he had, and his trance had taken him on a journey.

It took both his parents to bring him out of the trance but what was it? What had happened to him? Inside the house the air is not stale, it is fresh, and it is not tainted by blood. There is no blood on the walls or the floor of his bedroom.

'Is everything alright?' is what is asked of him by his father.

'Sure, yeah, but I could ask the same thing about both of you? Is there something I need to know?'

'Whatever could you mean by that?' asks his mother.

Had a vision taken him? Had he seen something the likes of which is coming? Has he foreseen some sort of future? If so, then what truly lies beneath said vision? Are his parents lying? And where will things take him from here?

I find it hard to tell you 'cause I find it hard to take, when people run in circles it's a very, very mad world.