We are enveloped in darkness. We are clothed in heavy blankets. We are swallowed up into a sinkhole of somnolence. Then when our eyes again do peel, we stare into the void. Desperately, we try to recognize this place that we are in. The sun ups. The animals make their noises. The song begins again. We get our bearings. We commence. In one minute we've gone from 9,000 miles an hour to 9,000 hours per mile. 

From the top of the tallest building, we dive like eagles. We plummet headlong. We crush our bodies into a fine powder. Flat-lined, we lie still, spread thin but not ended. Our lives drawn out of us. January is a tragic circumstance. There is now no brain activity. In ICU, our loved ones gather around to rally us on. But then as hope becomes foolish, the waiting area empties of all its patrons and promise. Slowly, giving up becomes acceptable. One by one, we descend to zero but instead of fading out forever we grasp this sliver of life left in us and maintain our own prolonged torture.