The Rustle of the Morning Stars
You are woken by the neighbour’s dog barking. The nasty animal is always waking you up. How you hate it! Why should you have to be woken up by the noise of someone else’s pet? You feel an intense desire to set fire to your neighbour’s house.
It is foggy and damp outside. You walk along the slippery path through the gloomy forest. Almost all the leaves have fallen, exposing the grey trunks of half-dead trees. Why do I live in the middle of this depressing bog? you think. You reach for a cigarette. You don’t really want one, but old habits tell you that you need one.
A birch branch bends spitefully and hits you hard on the forehead. Bastard! In your outrage, you want to break the branch in half.
Every time you try to battle with the world it yields at first, giving you false hope, only then to come back at you with a hard slap. You are just the turkey fattened up to be roasted. But wait... there is a strange sound beneath the noise of the wind. A sound like the rustle of the morning stars.