Darkness. Silence. Peace. For me, these things are inseparable. For only when I find the first two elusive prizes can the latter be found. My peace is shattered by the piercing squeals of my alarm clock. I find my shotgun, which is always laid beside my bed loaded, and aim blindly towards the source of the offending noise. The bright orange flash quickly cuts through the night and stops the alarm’s droning. I lose more alarm clocks that way. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t enjoy shooting at my property, but that smoking pile of electronic bits in the corner destroyed a perfectly good wet dream. I hate it when that happens. Not to mention that I now have one royal headache and my stomach feels like performing its impression of Mount Vesuvius. It must be time to visit my altar to the Porcelain god. Maybe my prayers will be [More]