The Next Day

"It's four," the clock whispers. I'm wearing the darkness like a blanket. A black permeated only by the halos of fictional characters as their false tales follow me to my dreams.

"It's midnight," the clock whispers. Though I saw the flurry of calendar dates with my own eyes, what seems like only the next day has come. Midnight. It's late. I plummet into my bed, ready (but not really) to hear the clock's early call.