​It’s dark out, on this chilly Mayberry morning. Still and quiet, the critters must be huddled in warm secret places, awaiting the sunshine. Even so, I expect that they’ll be up and around soon. Unlike me, they are not deterred by life’s inconveniences. 

Last night, my dreams were filled with bloody remnants of memories, once subjugated to my will to forget. These days, it is I who endures life as a slave to their will. Now loosed, they scream through the night with a terrifying vengeance. It is my own fault that they’ve found their freedom, as I have become exhausted from fighting against them for so long. I think that’s a natural part of the aging process for everyone. The good and the bad come home to roost eventually. 

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