It struck me late at night that I could not remember how my house looked like inside, and if I didn't, how could I find my way to the loo? But I could recall the inside of every other house I had lived in, opened doors and was met with intimacy, but the last door I opened led nowhere; saw a blank screen that had yet to be written on. I opened my eyes the darkness undulated with a tiny ball of light, residue of the day gone by. I tried to get up, but my lethargy was so immense I could not move, feared I had had a stroke.
Sweat ran down my forehead across my mouth I felt as I was going to drown and was ready to confess to anything. Yes, sir I killed them all. Finally I was able to move an arm; flex my fingers, and life seeped back into my body. I got out of bed, but since I didn't know the inside of my house I collided with the wall and fell back into bed again. I didn't want to open my eyes but had to if I was going to conquer my fear of darkness; reluctantly I opened them again dawn had crept in and I heard bird song there had been a stay of execution.
