You thought you were going crazy.

You saw people, or rather, souls that looked just too similar to people. But they looked dead, we're dead. Everytime you told someone they thought you lost it, or just simply didn't believe you and thought you were joking. The longer it went on, the more panicked you became. Did you really lost it? Were you sick? Or perhaps, crazy?

Some were occasionally talking to you, looking over you or acknowledged you. But who, or rather what, were they? Eventually it was getting too much so you decided to take a walk into a quieter, more isolated place. Away From people, away from whatever it it that you can see, away from everything, just a few moments to yourself.

Or so you thought

As you were sitting down with your back against a rock, you heard a voice speak out from behind you. "Such a tired bird you are, I wonder, why is that?" A voice too familiar, but too unbelievable to hear. It was no one other than Apollo. His voice was soft, calm, one could say almost calculated. Like he knew something, or rather what was going on. But wanted to hear it from you. His stance was relaxed, but godly, majestic almost. He was also holding his all too famous lyre in his hands.