Lights flicker, forming a bokeh picture in front of my eyes.
It's as if the book in my hands emitted a faint shine, but logic tells me that cannot be.
The night is veiling my mind with a pitch black cloth and I fight back like a fly trapped inside a spider's web.
And a fresh supply of air flows towards my nostrils
and crickets' song reminds me of the dark woods that surround the house.
Every once in a while my eyes wander off of the white letter-stained page to glance through the window.
My brief stare down is terminated by the sight of the ol' borin' concrete.
If only at least a squirrel scuttled towards the other side of the yard.
But it doesn't.
And if it did, I probably wouldn't notice. Its silent pawsteps are far from my hearing; I can barely listen to my thoughts.
There's only one voice not drowned in the crickets' outcry.
The heavy and deep voice of Feudal Kingdom of Sentences.
Its Lords of Words and Peasants of Letters are asking me for attention from their crib in the hardcover that is buried within my lap.
I heed the call and disappear within the mind of the entity that is considered to be a god and a creator in the Feudal Kingdom of Sentences.
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