There's light in the sky, but I don't know what it is, or if it's something natural, or something slipping through that we've never seen before. I don't like it. It's beautiful, but it's the color of blood and the color of night, with a sharp edge of a sterling silver flashing. Or is that lightning? I can't tell the difference sometimes, looking through all this fear. I hate it, and yet . . . there's something exhilarating about life these days. Intense. Like it could end tomorrow, and you can't even say how it might happen. It could be anything. Fire. An earthquake. Someone shooting you in the head.

It makes my muscles ache. Clear down to my bones, in fact. My joints. Too much tension. Too much worry. It's not good for you, they say. No, they don't say anything anymore. There is no more internet, or TV. No more of anything, except these things my mind keeps imagining. I haven't been outside for months. Maybe there's no one out there anymore. I wouldn't know. If they are out there, who would they be?

Sometimes I wonder if I've always been scared like this. And if not, when did it start to happen? I can't remember. And maybe that's the problem. Maybe I'm scared because I can't remember. Is that what it is?

What? What is this place? I don't know where I am.

I was going along and then . . . there was some kind of light, and I don't know what it is. The whiskey is gone. I'm quite sure of that. The milk. The ju ju berries. I shouldn't be eating those. I know that. They'll stick to my teeth and make them fall out. That's what my mother says. She doesn't like sugar at all, but where is she? I haven't seen her, have I? Is she still around? I think I'm too old for that. Yes, that's right I am too old. I can see my arms are old. And my legs are skinny. Why are they so skinny? I was always lean, but look at my knees now. They look like they're all bone. And look at my arms. Skin hanging thin from the bones. It's not supposed to be like that. It's really not.

Oh well, what was I doing?

I turn away from the window, but I don't know where I'm supposed to go next. Maybe the bathroom, and if that's not it, maybe to bed. I'm tired. That's for sure. At least, I think I am.

I go in the bathroom and lean into the mirror and see it's true. I look tired. Like I'm old. But that's not right. Maybe I just had too much to drink. But there's no whiskey left. I'm quite sure of that. So, what would have done it? Maybe I am old. Maybe I'm not only old, maybe I'm dead. Maybe this is what it's like to be dead and stuck in one place.