I wake up this morning with the sense that everything around me is dying.

I know that everything around me is dying.. ... ..and yet it is not a fear.

It is like a balloon filled with air and coming to the surface of the bathwater.

Sure, it doesn't help that when I say I woke up this 'morning', I really mean two in the afternoon.

For it is always two in the afternoon when I wake up unattended... ...like the last backhanding slap of destiny punishing me for my laziness.

Then... ...it doesn't help either that today is a Sunday. A usual, gray.. ...neverending Sunday.

For Sundays are always gray.. ...

They last and they last and they last...

And I wonder if Sundays are a cosmic punishment for those of us who are too cursedly sharp to believe in a God. Or maybe Sundays are the daylight equivalent for a routine rehearsal for Death.

But it is only the birth of a new week in that it is also the death of the previous one.

I know this.. ...as do many others like or unlike me, I'm sure. And maybe that is what contributes to.. .. ...the grayness.

But there is more to it than that this day.

Neither the flickering 'Two P.M' on the clock or the sagging skies of Sunday from beyond the blinds...

There is something.. ...like the slimy aftertaste collecing in my throat with every wandering contemplation... ...

Like the concrete folds of my bedhseets.. ... ...weighted with the dusty air of inaction... ...

This room, this Tower, this City...

... ...it is so full of nothing.

These glass eyes of mine and what they think they see.. ...they see nothing...

Yes, there are lives that I save... ...

Yes, there are disasters that are averted.. .. ...

But to what end?

I know the doom that I bring and I know the reason for why Sunday, any day, any night lingers and dies in the corners of my spirit.

I try not to talk about it.

Azar knows, I try not to dwell on it.

But mornings like these.. ...

Gray days and dull afternoons like these...

It's like the world is one huge windbag deflating all around me.

It's not worth weeping for.

It's not worth complaining about.

It's just something that--on occasion--makes me wonder if someway, somehow, in some possible fasion.. ...

.. ... ...I could have made a prosperous, alternative turn sometime in the past.

Apart from being a hero.

Apart from being a Titan.

Apart from being in any semblance of a hazardous lifestyle...

...and instead, someplace safer.

But...

I know the current through which life flows into Styx.

The patterns of things to be and one day cease to be... ...

I am not alone in my realization, but I can be honest and say.. ...

I am a lot sharper.

I am a lot sharper.. ...but I do not want to brag.

I do not want the world to applaud me with soon-to-be meatless hands.

I'd rather.. ...

Stay right here.

Even with the door knocking...

And Beast Boy and Starfire calling for me.. ...

Asking for me to join them on a walk or a pizza run...

I want to stay right here...

Right here...

...but I get up...

And I shower...

And I get dressed...

And I walk out of my room...

And into the Main Room...

And the Titans see me...

And they smile...

And...

"Friend Raven! You came to join us!"

"Didn't think you were up to it, Rae!"

"Heh...Like, Lord knows you never tire from making love to your books all by yourself in your room!"

"Stop trying to be funny, Beast Boy. Let me just get some tea and we'll be on our way..."

"Heh...sure thing, dudette."

"Hey! Who's for ice cream aftewards?"

"One thing at a time, Cy..."

"Hehehehe!"

I sip.

I sigh.

I follow.

The grayness isn't mine alone.

It isn't mine alone...