Everyone has a shell protecting them. Against the world. Against themselves. This shell, hard and cold, is not born of choice but of necessity, forged in the fires of betrayal and cooled in the loneliness of despair. It serves as armor in a world that does not hesitate to wound, a world where vulnerabilities are exploited in those we dare to trust. Yet, paradoxically, this very shell that offers sanctuary also becomes our prison, isolating us from the warmth of genuine connection, from the healing touch of empathy.

Within the confines of this armor, the soul begins to wither, starved of the light it needs to grow. Thoughts turn inward, dark and twisted, mirroring the bleak landscape that the shell overlooks. The mind, once a vast expanse of possibilities, becomes a dungeon where fears are the jailers and hopes are the prisoners, sentenced to life without parole. The darkness within grows, feeding on every doubt, every regret, until the person becomes a shadow of their former self, moving through life but not living, breathing but not alive.

The shell, once a protector, now whispers sinister truths, tales of treachery and tales of pain, reinforcing the barriers that keep the world at bay. Trust becomes a concept as foreign as light in the depths of the deepest ocean trench, and the idea of opening up, of allowing someone else to see the fragility hidden beneath the shell, is tantamount to inviting destruction. So, we continue, each of us encased in our shells, floating like ghosts amongst each other, never truly touching, never truly seen.

In this world, the shells multiply, becoming ever more elaborate and impenetrable, as humanity spirals into a chasm of isolation. The irony of our collective loneliness is that it binds us together, yet we are too ensconced in our personal fortresses to notice. The darkness is not just within; it is all around, a reflection of our own inner turmoil projected onto the canvas of society. In seeking to protect ourselves, we have built a world where the very thing we crave—connection, understanding, love—is the hardest to achieve, buried under layers of fear and distrust.

Thus, we wander, lost souls in a labyrinth of our own making, searching for a way out, but finding only deeper darkness. The tragedy of our shells is that they are both our salvation and our doom, a barrier against the world and against the very things that make life worth living: vulnerability, love, and the chance to be truly seen.

​My Shell

​The Hollow Man     |     The Hollow Man Series, International Espionage​

​