He hears the information in denial, in confusion, the world cannot exist where this is true; the anomaly must be just passing through. A joke, a ploy, a severed limb waved in circles by a clown. Time is close enough he could turn around, go back to before, it's so close - five minutes ago! Quick reverse, fervent dissent cannot stop the meaning lent to small words given in big numbers. Understanding dawns - he stumbles. Yesterday was unexciting, aside Today, desperately enticing, beautiful, stunning, and serene. A lost memory, forming on his brow in a sheen. Acceptance breaks and hope flies away, lost on the whispered sounds of May. Life is gone and in its place stands a vast terrible empty space. The world was not what he thought, not anymore wrought in possibilities and future tenses, no more Hopes as defenses. He needs to reevaluate where he was and where to take the swirling self of consciousness now in personal apocalypse. That will come with later's feelings; now he stares at a white ceiling cursing the day he was born and rejecting his new form. His mind circles endlessly a sigh to a scream to a thousand tears Fear at the future and pain at the sutures. Dawn will rise another day but now his hours fill with rage, his minutes with ragged breaths and his seconds with little deaths. One afternoon he will learn to stretch and breath and smile and yearn, but for now - he just has to remember how.