A new day begins, and you shove, no,
push yourself up and out of
bed, for you must to begin the
day. For the first hour, the
mind stirs up strange memories and
painted thoughts, a range of
orange hues, probably from the
dreams, though possibly not, yet
these nightmares do show themselves, a
bullet which is only shot at that
time, and at no other.

After this another hour begins, and
the minds fog clears like mist on a
summer morning. The thoughts turn
strange and hollow, as though
seeing through a glazed eye....