Rain spatters against the window, hurling itself against the panes like an unbidden visitor determined to gain admittance.
The moon, shielded from illumination by the combined presence we call our planet, casts a thick, impenetrable pall broken only by the occasional street lamp and passing car. Other than that, the gloom is complete, the world has disappeared.
Somewhere in the black street below me, a black cat shelters from the black rain under a black car. Underground, myriad insects and bacteria move and multiply unseen, unheard, unknown.
Three floors up, I lie. Listening, listless. Awake not because of the rain or the dark, but plagued by dark thoughts, doubts, worries that would seem trivial in the cold, harsh light of day. And yet now, on this wet, windy, moonless night, they are my all; my persecutors, my prosecutors, my jury and my judges.
And I have been found guilty.