criticaloversite

This is the opening to a short story I'm working on...I couldn't think of a good one, so I just kinda layed this one out after reading an author which some of you probably know. See if you can guess...

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In the following documents, I will attempt to create something with which to be remembered by. My hours may no longer be the same as yours as days blur to nights in this land where the sun almost never rises, but my constitution resembles that which it used to be. It is on this very fundamental level that I will attempt to connect with you and offer explanations, but I guarantee nothing.

Morning light will be here soon, but I will miss it, due to the inevitable rigid sleep creeping up my spine, dragging with it the sterile, dreamless state it swaths me in. The air has long been quiet and I cannot feel it's presence, but I mustn't be lulled into the illusionary safety of slumber just yet. It is then that I am most vulnerable to the terrors of this world, in that state where I am unable to guard my physical body while lost in a floating black sphere until some archaic need calls me back.

Sleep comes when it cares to. My will, beaten and worn, has only so much strength left...