"Through the blinds the black sun fills up the room. She drags herself off the matress. Everything tilts. Was there an earthquake, what the hell? No, it's her head that's crooked. She walks to the stove, but ends up at the closet. Which is alright- she's a bit cold. She slips her furry chicken legs into some thick sweatpants. The stove is just to the right of the closet, an easy stumble and she's there. The gas ignites and the orange glow bubbles against the black light. What happened yesterday? Don't look out the windows, who knows which eyes look back. She isn't scared, just doesn't want to disclose what lies behind her eyes. The mix of malicious plans (cruel manifestations of self-defense), romantic delusions that claw specifically at corners the black sun doesn't reach, refracted reflections, and a clever glint that helps her walk between walls, are all her own. Man, everything is skewed. The black light from outside is bright enough. She walks up the wall to screw out the bulb. The black is still too much and burns at her eyes"