Silent Night

My house bears no unique qualities, and rests at the end of a uniform line, almost identical to all those before it. And at this time of night, the tiny details that might distinguish each house weren’t the slightest bit visible to my eye, let alone any other. Combine this with the bitter midnight air, and you can see why I always think that my road looks much like an old painting, and whilst standing here in my thick black socks, I am unable to control the urge to stay out here. Perhaps forever, I think to myself, as this urge reaches that specific part of my heart. Once any feeling was nestled in there, I became encapsulated by it to a point where I am known to make very irrational decisions.

My watch whispered to me a time that, to most, would be incredibly alarming. I had become so accustomed to these ungodly hours that most would consider me nocturnal, but I took pride in this usually shameful fact, as it was here I was most energised and felt most alive. The moist, dewy smell emerging from the greenery upon the street, brought about a warm welcome, due to my familiarity with the smell. You see, initially it wasn’t my choice to be awake at this hour, standing on cold tarmac in front of my house. I had been chosen by some unknown power to be on the receiving end of a series of neverending bleeding, mostly through my nose, with the exception of a handful of occasions where I have coughed up my own blood. Just like an irritating neighbour, it would call upon me in the most inconvenient times, and my frustration had built until it was overflowing, and I made up my mind to simply not sleep; it wasn’t as though I had much choice in the matter anyway.

This brings me to where I am now. I can feel the cold tarmac on my bare feet, and smell loneliness in the air. My body craves warmth but my mind can’t stomach letting go of this moment. I want to experience it, grab it by the legs and drag it back towards me. I want to live my final moments out here, by my own volition, and on my own terms. I am being put to death tomorrow, and I need not waste a second. They will kill me painlessly, before my nerves can even tell my brain what has happened, however to me it makes no difference. Whether I feel pain or not, I will be gone very shortly after. I am very aware of this, I have always been aware of this, and the last few months of my life were simultaneously the longest and shortest since I was born. This is because I can recall and tell you in great detail every single minute that passed, where I was, what I was doing, and what I was thinking about. I also then grieved whenever a minute passed, mourning it like a form of gloomy nostalgia, as I knew that each minute was as precious as an oyster’s pearl. 

Checking my watch once again, a familiar and returning feeling grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. I had very little time left, and the watch seemed to know that, as it seemed to smirk at me snarkingly, dangling time in front of my face like a set of keys to an infant. Slowly, I laid down in the middle of the street, on the cold, cold tarmac, and shut my eyelids. I wasn’t expecting to fall asleep, just to try and meditate for a minute or two, but I assume my severe sleep deprivation wasn’t going to let that happen, unsurprisingly. 

I then awoke to perhaps the last thing I’d want to wake up on my last day ever on earth. A bright light hit me like a sledgehammer to the skull, and I jolted awake to what I can only describe as a literal, biblical, angel.