Like a clockwork screw to the brain.

It hurts.

Everything hurts, the room is spinning, and I think - no, I know I've thrown up all over myself.

The headache that feels like my skull's being split apart from the inside isn't the worst thing about it, but the flashes of odd, almost nostalgic memory that has me thinking of a time when I was a child in a similar situation, my mother whispering promises of ice cream and sweets once I feel better actually aggravating the situation.

Even now I can't be sure if He's near - there was a flash of static from our radio and an unsettling heaviness in the air (and the shadows were restless again, but they always are, and my eyesight is anything but pristine to begin with), but aside from that, I couldn't even bring myself to look outside my bedroom window, much less work up the needed strength of will to make a sound. I'm only feeling mildly better now, the jackhammer in my skull turned down to a dull screwing motion, and I'm here because it's the only semblance of clockwork normality I still have anymore.


Tomorrow, once I feel better, I'll close the heavy drapes I haven't used since I was a child.




















Not that it'll help much.