It's a cold night outside, made colder by tiny droplets of water raining from the dark skies of winter. He looks around him and the walls are high.

He thinks, maybe (just maybe? or is he dreaming a dream of the dreamers?) the walls look back at him with unseen eyes. From up above, he wonders for just that fleeting moment, what does he look like?

(Tiny, dirty, miserable. Skinny, frail... dying?)

He looks around him, clothes (rags) growing heavier with the rain, and sees that the people are many (and colourful - like a dream he cannot leave, bright umbrellas and brighter shirts that don't fit, he thinks.)

Nobody looks back.

Rain falls from his eyes, falls from the eyes of the being that owns the skies - the one named God.