The sky is a blanket of white, like thick, fluffy wool. But it offers no warmth or soft consolations, instead, a chilling embrace of cold, damp melancholy.
I never liked mornings like this, when waking feels as strange as my deep dreamless sleeps, when the world possess a gloomy, dull quality as that of a faded photograph.
Oh, and this pain in my chest. As if the gland inside had been less sober than the rest of my body. But how can you deny a reliable servant some few moment of rest when he’s performed some heavy, tedious job for you, like keeping you alive?
Still, I stood, more eager to wrap up than to begin the day. My chest throbs as if to protest. But what can he do? I am his master. And besides, I too, have a master to attend to.
(Source: klapklap)
