11
Some nights, you can imagine that time has stopped for all eternity. Everything is quiet, though from afar you may detect a distant hum, the muted chaos which exists at the borders of any unshakable stillness. The sky has been painted a thin, leering grey, tinged with orange.
Life has been left just as it was - a car parked slightly askew, washing hung on the line, the light left on in an empty room - but life has simultaneously departed. Nothing moves on the streets, and from the ground at your feet to the roof of the globe you can hear the tiniest echo of the murmur of your heartbeat, all that remains of motion.
