Even now you can hear the scraping on the window's glass as the wind carries a whisper than cannot be discerned. The siren sounds in the distance of a dimly lit neighborhood.
A man sits in an unlit room as the dog meanders to and fro. He is illuminated by the screen in which he is engaged.
I am this man and I wonder what would happen if I wrote the dark things in the back of my mind into this story what would occur? Could one's fiction become one's reality and visa versa? The possibilities are enough to encourage or dissuade.
I will settle for making reality my fiction fornow, but who knows what the future may hold.