Come Morning I Found The Day As

Here Then At Long Last Is My Darkness. No Cry Of Light, No Glimmer, Not Even The Faintest Shard Of Hope To Break Free Across The Hold.

Back On Shore Everyone Was Pretty Messed Up, But The Owner/captain Was By Far The Worst Off. He Ended Up Drunk For A Week, Though The Only Thing He Ever Said Was "so?" The Boat's Gone. "so?" Your Mate's Dead. "so?" Hey At Least You're Alive. "so?" An Awful Word But It Does Harden You. It Hardened Me.

At The Heart Of Any Terror Is The Fear Of Losing What We Find Meaningful.

Stories Heard But Not Recalled. Letters Too. Words Filling My Head. Fragmenting Like Artillery Shells. Shrapnel, Like Syllables, Flying Everywhere. Terrible Syllables. Sharp Cracked. Traveling At Murderous Speed. Tearing Through It All In A Very, Very Bad Inreparable Way.

At The Breakfast Table We Are Footnoting Everything That We Read. We Don't Recognise It As Such But We Encounter An Article In The Newspaper And Then Suddenly We Recall That A Friend Had A Certain Comment On That Particular Story, A Certain Bit Of News That We Saw On The Television Applies To That And We Immediately Assemble An Idea Of A Story.