Before a mirror, his voice resounded, he held forth, he was concise, assertive, and insightful. In the company of one other, he murmured, he hesitated, he was doubtful, unsure, reluctant to assert. In the company of two, he whispered, he stammered, he was withdrawn, self-sabotaging. More, and he vanished, he shrank to nothing, he was silent. With everyone around him, he was alone.

"What I will do," said his friend, "is force you to speak, make you involuntarily visible in such a great crowd you could not otherwise imagine it." She brandished a gleaming pin. "I will pierce you with this, you will cry out, and you will be seen and heard. You will not be nothing." He was reluctant, but agreed.

One by one, people joined them, and inch by inch, decibel by decibel, he diminished. Conversations sprouted and grew over him like an aggressive ivy robbing him of sustaining sunlight, and he wilted. The gathering grew into a social event, the social event bloomed into a party, and joy flowed between all who had come.

By then, nothing of him remained. When his friend again noticed the pin, she wondered why she had brought it to a party.