Although my sightless eyes tell me nothing, I know night has come and a purple hue saturates the world around me. Night beasts creep from their hiding places. Scurry across the rocky trail in front of me. Crawl in the crevices of my marble hair. Flutter in the foreboding air above me, the same way they have for centuries. The beasts change but their habits remain the same. And I loathe them. Always crawling, climbing, scratching. If only they’d leave me alone. A cold wind stirs up the stench of decaying bodies buried in the catacombs below, then brushes against me. Dew forms on my warm, rough surface, then rolls down my potted cheeks. If only I could wipe it away, but I’m forced to endure century after century. Pillars I used to talk to eroded and fell more years ago than I can count. But I remain. Stripped of my beauty, my usefulness outgrown, cast aside to end my days in the shadow of an enormous aloe plant. Where is the justice? My silent screams dissolve into the unresp