Up in the night, a restless moonlit night, he woke from the dream of life into a world in twilight play. He stood undressed at the window, the garden plants engrossed in a noisy midnight meeting, unaware that he was eavesdropping. And then, suddenly, the unmistakable sounds of laughter from a group of girls carried over on a gentle night-breeze, idling not far away. He watched and listened from the curtain’s shadows, dead to it all, intoxicated by the scent of insentience.
Constant Voice 