You lie awake, staring at the ceiling. The idea brews into a low-grade fever, a quiet heat pulsing long after bedtime.

The malt liquor has lost its teeth, leaving only a dull headache. Your hands twitch with the clamorous weight of words unwritten. The night remains heavy and unfinished.

Johannes Springenseiss is a world citizen and raconteur. He mostly writes speculative fiction and creative essays.