There are things that some believe are best left untold. There are things that should be told, but remain untold for the fear of those who would tell them. There are things that have been told so many times they have lost meaning, like the stories people invent to mask fear, to mask the things they should tell, but are afraid to. As days pass they forget that the untold are true, and believe instead the lies they tell themselves. Yet morning comes, and they are reminded of the untold, reminded of their fears.
A canyon dips into an otherwise flat, dry landscape, tearing a gash in the sandy, brown earth. The sky still clings to night, though a pale grayish blue is poised over the horizon. A girl emerges from a crevice, dark circles under her deep brown eyes from hiking up the night before. Yet there is a slight smile on her face, a sliver of hope in her expression. She swiftly glances around and finds the world empty. The girl pulls herself out of the canyon; strides hastily through the