6AM

DUSTY TABLETS OF SCRIPTURES OF THOUGHTS LOCKED AWAY DEEP IN A

WAREHOUSE.
COVERED IN CAMOUFLAGE NEVER TO BE SEEN.

AN OLD ARCHAIC UNDERGROUND WAREHOUSE STOCK PILED WITH FILE STORAGE

BOXES FILLED WITH UNWRITTEN LIFE.

CART PUSHERS LOOKING FOR THEIR BOX HIDDEN AND TUCKED AWAY IN VINES.
THE OLD GROWTH VINES DRAPE FROM THE RAFTERS CLUTCHING FERMENTED

GRAPES

THE BOXES

EDGES ARE STAINED YELLOW AND MURKY BROWN FROM LEACHING
MOISTURE SUCKING DRY THE THOUGHTS.
PAGES WITHERING AND WRINKLING TO EACH OTHER MELDING INK FROM ONE PAGE
TO THE NEXT.

A SPIRALING OLD AND RUSTY IRON

STAIRCASE TRAVELING ONLY DOWNWARD
BELOW WHERE ONLY ONE BOX RESTS ALONE.

A MAN STANDS GUARD.
ROBED IN BLACK FADED FROM TIME.
HIS BEARD DARK AND KNOTTED NATURALLY INTO BRAIDS.
FORGED METAL BANDS BRAIDED CIRCLING HIS UPPER ARMS AND A BLACK

FOREST OAK STAFF STANDS PERFECTLY UPRIGHT UNTOUCHED BY HIM.

HE HOVERS JUST MILLIMETERS OFF THE DIRT AND PEBBLE COVERED GROUND

SUSPENDED BY ONLY HIS MIND AND A THICK FOG ENCOMPASSES HIM.

HIS HANDS GLOW A DARK GREEN, HIS EYES STARE BLACK.
HE HAS PRAYED FOR THIS MOMENT, DESPERATION LEFT HIM EONS AGO WAITING

FOR HIM TO ARRIVE.

ABLE TO SEE WHAT IS NOT FORESEEABLE.
TOUCH WHAT IS INTANGIBLE.
SMELL WHAT IS ODORLESS.

HE BECKONS TO COME CLOSER, TO OPEN THE BOX.
HE GLIDES TO THE SIDE EFFORTLESSLY JUST BY THE MINDS WILL THAT TOLD HIM

TO DO SO.
THE LID STRUGGLES TO LIFT OPEN AS ITS APPROACHED.
LOST LOOSE PAGES ARE SUCKED IN FROM THE VACUUM.
CART PUSHERS HOLD ON TO VINES, TO THE METAL RACKS, THE IRON STAIRCASE, TO
KEEP FROM BEING SUCKED INTO OBLIVION.
GRAPES PELTING THEM IN THEIR FACES LEAVING STAINED PURPLE SMEARS ACROSS
THEIR FACES AND CLOTHES BLINDING THEM WITH AGED POISON.

THE FLOATING MANS BLACK ROBE STARTS TO GIVE INTO THE VORTEX BUT HIS

METAL BANDS KEEP IT AFFIXED AND IN PLACE.
THE COLOR OF HIS SKIN IS SUCKED FROM HIM INTO THE BOX FIRST AS THE LID
OPENS FURTHER.

METAL CARTS FLY DOWN AND AROUND HIM SLAMMING INTO THE BOX, WARPING

AND CRUSHING INTO THE NARROW OPENING.

PURE BLACKNESS IS THE ONLY THING VISIBLE FROM WITHIN.
SUCKING ALL LIGHT, ALL SOUND, EVERYTHING INTO THIS BOX.

THE LID STRUGGLES TO MOVE ANY FARTHER AND HIS STAFF NOW IS EVIDENT OF ITS

PURPOSE.
IT FITS JUST RIGHT INTO THE OPENING WITH ITS GLOW WIDENING THE GAP
FURTHER.

HEARTBEATS NO LONGER EXIST
BREATHS HAVE NO PLACE
VISION IS NO MORE

DRAINED AND WEAK THE MAN THRUSTS INTO THE BOX ONE FINAL TIME AND THE

LID DISINTEGRATES AND LIGHT EXPLODES EVERYWHERE.
ELECTRONS AND NEUTRONS RETURN TO THEIR RIGHTFUL PLACE IN SPACE.

SIGHT IS RESTORED INSTANTLY ONLY TO SEE NOTHING ONCE AGAIN.
SOUND IS REINCARNATED CONCENTRATED ON A HEARTBEAT STRONG ENOUGH TO

WAKE AND THE CEILING FAN IS ONLY SET TO LOW.
BED OF WATER MADE FROM AIR RISING UP TO REALIZE ITS ONLY 6 AM.