April

You can almost see ghosts rising off; trapped in the scratches, below the lacquer. They are confused and angry and shamed by how certain the world seemed at the time.

You can almost feel the dread pulsing just out of the corner of vision. Can you tell something miserable is going to happen by winter’s end? By next winter if this drags on longer than it should?

You can almost hear the white static whine of misfired connections and excess energy. It gears up to near shouting voices, made completely unintelligible by the sheer vehemence behind it. It drives those to fear and madness who have not learned to control it, or ignore it.