The night began, as it often does, with the cessation of light. He closed the blinds, let the black curtains fall and gingerly got into bed, moving slowly under the covers, not wanting to disturb the silence that begins, as it so often does, with the cessation of noise. He observes that nightfall and silence often accompany one another, and having a great respect for both, wishes to disturb neither. But on this night, as he slowly extends his legs and feet, he feels that there is something else in bed with him, and he finds this disturbing. There should be nothing.
He does not scream, nor does he cry out; this would disturb the silence. Instead, his toes lightly touch the object in an attempt to ascertain what it is. He finds that it is cold, round, and skinny. He is not afraid too much because his senses are telling him that it is not a living thing. He can't bring to mind any living thing that is cold, round, and skinny, so he knows that it is something that is not now, nor ever has been, alive. This makes him feel a little better, a little surer of himself, a little less afraid but more curious.
What could it be, he wonders, and how did it get here? I have never before gotten into bed to find myself surprised by something that has no place being there; never before have I encountered any strange object in my bed that is cold, round, and skinny, and causes me to wonder what it is and how it could have gotten there. He contemplates getting out of bed to turn on a light but he doesn't move. That would disturb the darkness. He enjoys darkness, respects it, and feels that he has an innate understanding of and with it. Tread softly in this world and leave not a trace, he thinks to himself.
However, like a tongue that cannot stay away from a sore in one's mouth, his toes continue to caress the cold, round, and skinny object, as if the physical contact will be able to tell him what the object is. And why shouldn't it, he thinks; my toes may not be as adaptive to touch as are my fingers, but if I lie here long enough touching it with my toes they may very well figure it out and let my brain in on it.
He moves his feet a little and discovers that the object appears to be longer than he originally thought, though why he should have assumed a size when he really had no idea of what the object was did not, to him, seem to follow common sense.
Now it was starting to curve a bit, this cold, round, and skinny thing, a somewhat sharp curve, and now it is straightening again. He was beginning to see the shape in his mind. A triangle? What is a triangle doing in my bed? His toes continue to move along the object and find yet another curve. Definitely a triangle, but why? And what is this extra piece sticking out of the top of the curve that is curved itself? He ponders this. He then decides, not without some trepidation, to slide a hand down to the object, to touch it with his all-knowing fingers. They provide him with the same information that his toes had - that it was indeed a cold, round, and skinny object, shaped generally like a triangle with another curved bit poking from one part. I know this, he thought; it is... a coat hanger. As this realization hit him, he had a flashback so powerful it caused him to black out.
2) I never believed that the dead could talk, though I had entertained the notion often enough. After my parents passed away I thought, well, if anybody can, they will. But aside from some dreams of them that became less frequent as time went on, I heard nary a peep. I also tried my damndest to experience lucid dreaming - again, no luck. I became an atheist in college but always maintained an interest in spirituality and a belief that there is something after death, but which is generally unknowable to us in this state. I've had friends who were into witchcraft and Satanism; hell, just for kicks I've even tried selling my soul to the Devil, but it seems His Infernal Majesty is just as uninterested in my soul as The Almighty. I am one of those people who generally need proof before I can profess a belief in something. I'll entertain fantasies, sure, and daydreams, but unless God or Satan suddenly zaps into existence here in my room then I can't give either of them the benefit of the doubt. Simply telling me that one or the other (or both) exists is like telling me there's an angry unicorn on the dark side of the moon. I'll believe it when I find moon dust hoof prints on my bedspread.
3) When night fell, it landed on my foot.
In the beginning was the Darkness. Somewhere out there (the location was hard to pinpoint since there were no lights or anything else to delineate whether He was Here or There), God put the finishing touches on his newest creation. These life forms that had been created were extremely well-adapted, enabling them to see all without the need for light. Their depth and breadth of knowledge was astounding, and they had learned (or had been given) all the secrets of the universe. They were to be the teachers of those who came after, instructing one and all in the hidden nature of things and what the purpose of life really was. Then one day God turned on the lights and blinded them all, rendering them useless.
4) George Nolan was tired and cold, and tired of being cold. Overhead, the sky was swollen with grey clouds that threatened rain at any moment, and this mirrored his mood exactly. At least now he was walking from work, and not to it, but this did little to lighten his mood, for tomorrow would just be another carbon copy of today - up before the sun, make a pot of coffee, go to work, be ignored by everyone there, go home, be ignored by everyone there, go to sleep, and then much too soon be up to do it all over again. Talk about a life of quiet desperation! I need a change, thought George. Two minutes later the change he was so desperately seeking landed on his head.