A husk shivers into the room. Its gaping sockets suck in the vivid pallid walls; the laughing lifeless furniture; the morbid mirthful [[inhabitants]]. Its empty, anguished maw belied a bereft void, crying out for that which it [[implicitly]] knows it surely had, with deafening [[silence|shudder]].What are they? They are the most important agents this room has ever known. They have brought worlds of meaning into existence; populated the space with joy, hate, knowledge, future, [[meaning|shudder]]. Some of them are celebrating all that they have done and could be. Some have found peace in knowing that their contributions will outlast them by many lifetimes, barring any unforseen catastrophe.Without thinking, without feeling, without past or future, it knows it is [[empty|shudder]]-- empty of life, empty of death, empty of hope, empty of passion, empty of presence, empty of meaning, empty of existence, it yet exists. and without being, it is.It [[shudders|2]].A husk shivers in the room. Its gaping sockets engulf the bright disquiet walls; the crying cackling [[furniture]]; the pleasant pale inhabitants. Its whisper-thin frame [[shouted]] inwards, inverse; it yearned, it searched, it scoured--[[mute]]. [[Existence|opens]] rages against the dying of the light.(([[EVERYTHING|opens]] ((ALL OF IT ((IT ENDS ((IT IS GONE ((UNFINISHED ((FRUITLESS ((FUTILE ((EMPTYIt [[opens]].A husk becomes the room. Its gaping lack engulfs its grey flaking walls; its otherwise support; its inconsequential nonexistence. It blows away on the wind.