You don't want the night to end because if it does you know you're fucked.

You might imagine a gradually building light, something the eyes can get used to. But in truth the day comes on like it never left, bright and blue. The night was just a darkness you entered, hand pressed into the steering wheel and screaming in delight as the cavern closed around you.

But too quick the same day it always is, the same troubles on the mind—and this is just the beginning.

Your body trembles in fatigue. There's a hole in your chest and tingling in your arms. Your fingers have stiffened.

Your eyes hurt. You close them and your dreams are fitted with brands that fuse memory with the imagined. It feels like a kind of consciousness, a chosen course through a false sleep.

You open your eyes to no respite. Daylight finds you and holds you there tautly in suppressed time, your thoughts bound to live and relive the last moments of your last memory of the last day.