And Then I Woke Up

by Malcolm Devlin

Night means darkness, darkness means introspection, introspection dredges up all kinds of monsters and my god, do those bastards keep us busy until dawn.

Think about it. When the narrative has taken hold, it brings with it a constricting of focus; a tendency to only see what is perceived to be true at the expense of everything else.

Did our . . . I don’t know . . . cultural dominance force the same stories on them at the expense of their own? Or is everyone caught up in their own fictions, born of their own histories, their own conversations, their own media?

Or maybe we’re each trapped in our own narratives and blind to the experience of everyone else?