She was never conscious during the entire sequence of life. She counted her steps, looked back at them and focused on the imprints in the dirt. The world looked differently today, tonight in the light of the lantern. It was like she was above everything; observing herself as an object, not belonging in the context it was in. Like those pictures that pop out of the paper. They don't completely belong to the whole, they're apart from it yet still together, completing the idea of pop-out art. The trees whistled in the wind and shivers covered her bare, goose-bump skinned arms. They slowly trickled down to her legs and she stiffened in an instant. Never at all belonging, though part of the whole. Stuck to the side of the earth, not being able to escape it all. She never realized it was just the depression taking control of her, slowly. Eating her up inside. She never saw it that way, she wasn't ever and would never be the type to suspect things like that to really exist. He observed her, "I wish she could see herself like I see her", he thought to himself carefully. At a distance. Never close enough to be noticed.