Stitches

“Yes,” said Nightspore in a slow voice, without surprise. “But what is your name on Earth?”

“It is pain.”

“That, too, I must have known.”

~A Voyage to Arcturus

There is pain, but even pain has lost its edge in this dull weariness. Pain, my friend, has been with me throughout this long crusade, but the light of day draws on to forbidden horizons leaving me on this darkening battleline we failed to break through; night encroaches. My mind is fuzzy, and old man pain, once granting me such clarity, now creeps over me like a fog, dulling my senses even to himself. I envy the slain, and those still marching; I fear I am neither now; my wounds are deep. Morning shall come again, a light at our backs that will blind our enemies; we will try again, but there is no sleep for me this night, nor duty. Between light and death, I feel ghostlike, effervescent, and for the first time I find myself questioning pain and his dread commands. His voice is confused and dull, but he is all that anchors me now to this world. As you can see, I have been cut… severed… held together by threads, stitches.