There was a fine mist of rain as I was walking towards the school today - fairy drops on the grass oppressed by a silent gray sky. The reflection of lamps in the window, identity refracted, like clones of each other in a muted shadow-world beyond the pale of this plane. It's quiet but for the soft shuffling of papers, the rustling of bodies, the shuffle of feet across the tile. Whispers and secrets as girls walk by through the door.

I have work to do but the thought of doing it is paralyzing. I'm tired, and the world collapses in on itself. There are many places - infinite places - that I would rather be. My life as a bookmark among the pages of the real.