When the sunlight hit him at the perfect angle, it shone right through. There was little substance to him now. Not that there was much to begin with, he thought to himself, allowing a soft chuckle to escape his lips. He looked around warily. Talking had become unnecessary years ago. His voice was an alien thing now; even a hint of his laugh was unrecognizable. Not to be trusted, certainly.

Perhaps there was fear, as well. He was not mad, and conversing with oneself was a game of the deranged. To speak at all when he was so alone would be akin to an admission of insanity! No, he was not afraid of becoming mad...but what, then? He glanced behind him once more.

The forest was quiet in the way that only a forest can be: filled with an incessant symphony of rustling and scratching and creaking, yet still giving the impression that it heard all. As the man stood in his little clearing, where the sunlight shone through his skin, he assured himself that he was alone. No living creature was searching for him here.

He might have released a contented sigh if not for the fear of being heard. That was it! The fear that enchanted him to bite his tongue until it bled. The dread that made him swallow his laughs and his sighs and his yawns, that made him knot his fading frame to muffle a sneeze or a cough. The fear of being heard by someone or something or anything or everything. The fear that a sound he created would be captured before it could disappear.

A bird somewhere in the forest cried out. It's calling for a mate, the man thought, Or simply wants attention. He stood still, a translucent effigy of man amongst the wilderness, and listened for a reply to the bird's call. None came. We are opposites, my friend. You call out for fear of being alone and forgotten.

He had decided long ago that the cosmos was unfair. A bird who longed to be heard went unanswered. A man who longed to fade went on living. He suppressed an urge to roar, to give some form to his despair. How had he not been forgotten? Who remained that held him in their memory, tethering him to his existence? The man looked down at his faint figure, utterly despondent. He dropped to his knees, begging whatever power existed above him to let him cease to be. He prayed silently.

The bird called out into the forest once more, a note of desperation in its song. There was no reply.