Entry 12

     The world turned into a dull grayscaled version of what it used to look like, as though someone with Photoshop opened it for the first time and noticed that they could become and instant artist by grayscaling their pictures. Dillion was not one to really care about sudden color changes that occurred to the world around him, but then again, after his wife died, he was not one to care about anything.
     The sun set without its brilliant sunset. Clouds lay low and the street lights flickered as the turned on to illuminate the streets. Stars were veiled by the yellow light produced by the city. The moon's white light barely protruded through the thicket of clouds. Dillion was alone.
     So alone.
     The edge of reality flickered in front of him. He saw the darkness begin to enclose as he heard in the faint distance the sound of his wife's voice say to him: “I love you.” He was haunted by these images and sounds of his wife ever since she died; but he had gotten used to it. The manifestations of his mind had progressively grown worse, but – truth be told – he somewhat enjoyed hearing and seeing his wife from time to time, even if she manifested herself as dark figures that tormented him.
     It was a strange feeling: to long for, yet resent these manifestations.