|It's way worse than it sounds.|
It’s that dreadful bloody awful hour or so of the morning where the night-owls have gone to bed and the early-birds have yet to rise. The whole world seems to be empty, pristine and untouched, like the software exists for reality but the files haven’t completely rendered yet. I hate it. It would be almost sort of beautiful in its odd virginity if it wasn’t so terrible and lonely. The breath of fresh air is at first calming and relaxing, without the collage of sound and flurried faces mucking it up, but then the uneasiness sets in. A lone car rolls by in the distance like it knows more than you do, or think it’s better than you are because it’s supposed to be there and you aren’t. If the car had a face you would stab it. Not that stupid looks-like-a-face with its headlights and front bumper, a real one that could feel pain. The landmarks are all familiar, but there’s no life to them without people. It’s a sort of calm serene void usually reserved for the dead or worse, like walking around a giant scale-model mausoleum of all your memories and familiarities. You want to scream for help but there’s not a single person in the entire world who would hear you. They’re all dead… like your parents. Go back to sleep and wake up when things will seem better. Eat something for breakfast that involved killing an animal to make it. Blast loud rock music and wake up your roommate. You won’t be forgetting this anytime soon, but the least you can do is distract yourself. If you ever have to go outside between the hours of 5 and 6am again, bring a loud gun in case nature gets any ideas.