It is that peculiar part of the morning when the sun has yet to appear, but the sky glows with a foreboding, steely blue that does not quite emulate the golden hue of dawn.
You are still awake, and it doesn’t really matter, because you have slept for years and been awake for years and one night without sleep will not kill you.
You feel like you should feel sorry for having kept him up so late, but the panic that keeps rising within you doesn’t allow you to. You need him right now. He can be here, and so you don’t feel sorry, because you deserve to have someone here when the dread of the future lurks as imminent as the coming of the sun.
There is nothing you can do to stop November from coming. It is as present as the promise of another sunrise, and the promise of an eventual death. You have never been quite so fearful of time passing, but you are awake for very second that ticks by and you can feel time moving as it rises in your body like bile.
You fear this, because you know there is nothing you can do to prevent what will happen. You know the outcome. You know exactly how things will go. And that frightens you.
Because you don’t want this, and you’ve never wanted it, and there is nothing you can do to stop it.
Your heroes of old never had a chance, nor have you.
You are the prisoner of lies and deceit, and your fate will be signed on a ballot printed in the land of your captors.
