There are miles to go before we sleep.
I am aware of each noise the world makes, as it sleeps. It's a funny thing, sleep. If unobservant enough, or perhaps blinded by ignorance, one can easily mistake death for sleep.
The world isn't asleep. It's dead.
The noises it makes is that of silence. Even my breathing, ragged and harsh in the cold air, sounds absurd. It's like those wind-up jack-in-the-box toys. Round and round the lever goes, until finally the menace comes bursting forth.
Am I the menace? I no longer know. I could have been lost long ago.
ns 15.158.61.48da2
