At precisely 2:22am,
I felt a slight disturbance in the air,
as I watched a small spark of golden light
enter the tip of my pen.
Believing this to be a fatigue-driven hallucination,
I continued writing....
....but to my utmost surprise,
the pen was now delivering black ink
instead of the previous hue of green.
Leaning back in my chair,
rubbing tired eyes in despair,
I watched a housefly
alight upon the fresh ink.
Before I even had the chance to blink,
the creature turned onto its back,
tiny legs curled up in a death throe -
an omen of some yet unforeseen woe.
I gingerly prodded the fly with the tip of my pen,
to see if it would suddenly start moving again.
Were my poor eyes deceiving me!
The fly was dead, as dead can be.
Afraid for my already crumbling sanity,
I left the scene to brew some camomile tea
in an attempt to block this incident momentarily,
with a good book in the comfort of bed.
But the warm rays of morning sunlight
did nothing to erase my strange plight,
for sitting on the writing desk in plain sight,
was a sheet of paper covered in two hues of ink.
I stared with dread, stomach beginning to curl and sink....
....I was barely even able to think.