Behind the bright sky and sun, I see a tattered velvet darkness that no one else sees. It hangs like a shroud, with diamond dust glittering at its trailing edges. The darkness does not lie empty. Sometimes there are eyes. They are hollow as gun barrels, though down them I think I glimpse the shine of jacketed slugs that point at me. I wonder if one of those bullets has my true name scripted upon it. Perhaps they all do.