Leans back with eyes losing focus - the distant sound of a ticking grandfather clock could be heared in his head. Eyelids fluttered, mentally unstable between the land of dream and reality. The room he sat in hadn't changed in all those years; primarily oaken decor, something similar to nobility in that room.

A paradoxial combination of exhaustion and euphoria encapsulating his mind as the moonlit room slowly darkened in his eyes; charcoal-grey storm clouds rolled over his vision - lying mere metres from the 'surface' of the clouds while he was overcome by the sensation of floating - weightless. As the clouds continued to roll by in a steadily slow pace, the sound of the clock became slower, pitch lowering slightly until it hit a 'rock bottom.'

He was getting so tired and even though he blinked, he always saw those pregnant clouds - waiting to burst with rain and energy, giving back to the world many miles below.

What had he done with all that time, all that energy and energy, all those wishes and desires? It was, however, too late to dwell on the what-could-have-been.

A total mental psychosis, a disassociation of body from soul. Where was he? Who was he?

Pressure was being applied onto his skull, all sensation slowly faded - mental necrosis of his digits, hands, arms, shoulders, toes, legs, chest, and legs. A physical breakdown of his body with molecules splitting into atoms and flying up into the night, starlit sky above. Perhaps he can try again...?

The sound of new life fills the room as the sedated, lower tones of the clock continued its pace.