They are unable to see past the superficial, unable to see past the physical shell. Unbeknownst to them they see naught but the cage, ignorant of the captive beast within.

Beyond the trees, far off in the horizon stands the radio tower, a lone beacon pulsing rythmically at its peak. It exudes a sense of isolation and melancholy. A signal calls out, but will anyone answer?

Something is following you. Negative outcome after negative outcome, deep into the realm of improbability. Is this Hell? The gates of Dis slam shut behind you, leaving you to be engulfed in misfortune. Have you been consigned here perhaps as divine punishment, or is this yet another crucible? One at the end of which proportionate good fortune awaits?

A shiver runs along your spine. The fear of communication, the fear of that which is not the self emerges once more; primal, uncompromising. A great, elder beast from before recorded history. A feeling from which all other emotions can only flee in terror of it's horrible strength. It is a fundamental pillar of your universe, to be without it is to be without yourself.

What does it mean to be a good person? In your heart, you are no less wicked than anyone else, in spite of this you strive to do well by others, to show others kindness and respect. You want to avoid causing others the pain that you feel. And yet...
Are your motivations truly pure? You are motivated by the belief that if you are kind, there will be an obligation for them to be kind in turn. Additionally, there is the great guilt. To cause others pain or unhappiness, is to place a burden upon yourself. Do you just want to avoid personal pain? Are you actually good if you are do good for selfish reasons?

A tightness forms in your chest. A strange emptiness in your gut. Raw panic begins to narrow your vision. You are in a realm not your own, an interloper in the world of the common man. Fight or flight, flee this place or pursue fiery dismemberment.

The world piles pain upon you without end, ignorant that it will not be enough. There is not enough pain in this world so that you cannot endure. On a distant plane, far from this cursed land, red sands and redder skies overlook the pain mines of the land of Perpetual Suffering. The wind howls and a wicked red sun scorches the earth. The overseer has just gotten word, there is one who endures beyond any other, pain production has been insufficient, quotas remain unmet. He howls and unfurls his whip, he would see wages increase ten fold, the workers would be paid in cruelty and torment, their common currencies. He would work them to the grave, but it would be not enough. You will endure it all.

Don't think about it.