My First True All-Nighter Gave Me Paranoia
Doom sets in watching night turn to day, horror and grief at what I’ve done—circadian rhythm brutality murdered by my own hands.
The light bleeds in through the blinds, thwarting my best efforts to block it out.
I know what I must do.
Hide the evidence—the bags under my eyes tucked away, the subtle pause in my movements, and my draw more southern than I usually give.
The bitter black mixed with sweet richness keeps me going for the rest of the day.
They all know what I did that night.
I know they can sense it.
I killed her.
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