The chalice of knowledge was half full when his demons began to chase his moth-eaten body. He was told the light at the end of the tunnel would be his salvation. There was no tunnel, only nooks and crevices sewn together, dead end dreams. They were right about the light, though. It shone bright and heavy, his life played back in high definition. Was this hell? He watched his years expand and contract, people waxed and waned. His mother remained stark, sobbing louder than the beat of his heart; awakening him, untainted, a miracle, immediately forgetting that time was fluid.