It was cold.
It was cold, but there was a pleasant kind of haze around his thoughts, so he didn’t mind. He felt insulated. Cocooned. Kind of safe.
Except that with every blip, the haze was punctured like a bubble. Oh, it rebuilt itself in the quiet quickly enough, but it was punctured all the same, and it was jarring. Blip, peace. Blip, peace. Blip, peace.
It was annoying, actually.
The word formed in the darkness almost lazily, uncurling itself like a smug cat. Mop on the piano. And once the thought was there, it wouldn’t go away. Blip, blip, blip. It was bloody annoying. Maybe if he worked up the energy to ask, someone would turn it off, and then he could go back to sleep. Sleep was a good idea. Sleep was awesome.
Except it was cold. There was a breeze and a smell. Antiseptic or som
