It's not almost five a.m., it definitely is.
The normal human beings' sleepin', but it isn't me.
I just smoke a cigarette and write a kinda foolish thing.
I hear the song of birds, so... whatever, I cannot sleep!
"...And so shall we begin." The voice of Mr. Soft echoed from the lecture hall's faraway walls.
The auditorium was scarcely populated, students sat far and wide, as it is customary during a pandemic, which meant that the professor's question were answered by more scalps than usual.
Sleeping in classes were not unheard of, but when you take away the possibility of misbehaving, one cannot make matrix arithmetic interesting enough for the masses to keep them awake...
Days have turned into nights that then turned into dawns and days again countless times since I saw L'amore d'Agna. It was the truest form of love, the purest source of happiness, yet there are no evidence that it ever existed; all I know is based on observations and experience, not on the nowadays preferred written way...
They were sleeping when the lights came through their window. They were not blessed with great wits or the gift of logical thinking. What they were given was great eyes instead: they had a condition called abnormal tetrachromacy, which meant that they had limited infrared-vision. When I learned about it from them I, as I have been always fascinated by colors and color deception, had to ask...
This is chronologically the first short story I publised in English, even if it wasn't the first I began writing.