short story three

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What monstrous being or great evil could be responsible for this daily climatic abyss, today I wasn’t my own reciprocal self. He had their demise all thought up. Unfortunately there is little one can do both to physically and mentally prepare themselves except to hope and if necessary pray for the worst because only then will you realize the suffering I have gone through. Denigrate us, with your pension plans, your two cars, and your white picket fence. This wondrous place radiates with depression enough to drive anybody emotionally unstable to the brink of suicide. Me, I just keep to my job. To uphold the predictability of your petty existence, I have to live on the edge.
The only birds that incited me to get through my day were owls, the only shining rays that enlightened my breakfast came from street lights –and half of them were not working. Instead gray blocks of cement touch the ever-dark gray skyline. You cannot grasp that in order for you to have your Tupperware-protected daylight lives, the night is necessarily dark and painful. Am I in hell. This must be hell. You don’t understand silence; you don’t understand the gloominess of the night as with us night creatures our circadian rhythm is the complete inverse of yours.