I can feel the heaviness of the gathering storm in the air. It is pushing down on us, ready to rip open and spill out. The still night does not deceive me. In the morning it will break open like a fire hidden behind a log, suddenly given air. It will come. I am scared. Scared for the morrow, fearful for what is to come. Frightened for what comes after death. We have been told we won't make it. Death does not frighten me. I have seen death, more than I would ever care to remember, but what comes after? A better place? A place free of the turmoil of our world? Free of the eternal game everyone must take part in? Life is so short, so soft, so inconstant, like a leaf falling in the wind, like a flower in the sunlight but faded by dark. I know what we fight for, freedom, light, Life. But it does not make me feel any better about the approaching morn. Nothing can do that. Only the hope that I might find a place where I can finally rest will give me some comfort this silent night.