A piercing cry cuts the still morning air, an organic alarm. It is time for The Routine. The man suddenly wakes and stares towards the sky. He hopes, prays, bargains for just a few more minutes of unconsciousness. Closing his eyes, the man tries to slip back into the blackness, away from reality.
Sharp jabs, like tiny needles, sink into his flesh. This is the first punishment, the first pain for delaying The Routine. The punishments will only become more insistent, more painful as he delays the inevitable. There's no point to waiting any longer. Relief will not be granted.
Reaching blindly into the dark, the man feels something brush against his flesh, startling him. Regaining his composure, he reaches out again until he feels the cold metal of his spectacles. Setting them on his face, they feel icy, only adding to the growing pain in the forehead. The man's eyes begin to focus, but still see nothing but the black.
