The smoke rises.

Seem the city is calling once again, but for what is not entirely clear. That massing overhead comes burning down. Who are you that has gone so low? Where are the children of the night that have said that they could take you to the other side?

Tiny lines appear upon the surface, though the deep chasm yawns below. Sweet smell of daisy chains in a forest flame. Come set me free. There is nothing that I would like to be. A raindrop, a petal, a long lost ember of fortitude. Beside my bed stands a tall dark figure, motionless, but those eyes, burning red and glowing.

Slowly dawning upon me, the sense of something that is to come. Four words run though your head. This is the way. Time drops a beat, swelling to clock tick, high on the wall.

The penny drops. It is telling you about all the histories of the world, and those that were never meant to be, but you can see them nevertheless. They forge your future as you walk through your lonely days. They come to you at night, telling you of what might have been, but it is no use. They push only to be thrown away. Into the wind.

The phone rings. It is a friend. "Are you coming along tonight?"

I guess I am.