Before the end, I shall be dreaming again.

It’s a rather strange state of affairs, I think to myself while sitting in my armchair, looking out the window. I never really believed how easy it could be for a person to bring themselves to the edge of a mental breakdown. It feels as if a cloud full of evil beasts is hanging over my head, feeding off my emotions, sending me unknown feelings of failure I wish would simply leave and let me feel numb again. Always, my body feels wasted, even used somehow. I start to feel more alone than ever before; feel as if I’m being made, unwillingly, to walk a mile in shoes that are weighted down. In my estranged mind, I begin to believe everyone in this godforsaken world moves about with graceful behaviour, while I’m left to struggle alone with my arms dangling, my knuckles dragging, in a stationary manner.

My name is Mark Jennings and I used to be a writer. In the not so distant past, I was the author of twenty bestsellers that made me a lot of money. I wouldn’t say they made me wealthy, just enough to live a comfortable life without having to worry about where the money for the next bill or down payment on the house was going to come from. I was well cared for by my writing, and though the books are still selling and I’ve got a few unpublished manuscripts locked away waiting for publication, I have not written a word for the past six months. Why, you may ask? I’ve no longer got the desire I had back in those days. Or the lifestyle I’d been living. Six months ago, my wife, Jessie, went off to get a litre of milk from the deli down the street. She did not return. I cannot explain what happened because I, nor the police, have any idea what happened that day. I remember her calling out she was going to get the milk as I was lying down for my afternoon nap (writers live the comfortable life, you know); the next minute I was waking to a silent house and the sun lowering in the sky. I phoned the police about my concern, and I was asked if she’d been missing for twenty-four hours. I said no, only a couple.

‘Well sir,’ replied the officer, ‘we cannot really do anything until after twenty-four hours.’