Prologue

If anything seems like a beginning, it is this moment.

Normally, I deplore lists as the most simplistic of lies: too reductive, shouting too loudly of what they exclude while tacitly protesting a completeness. Oh, fine, perhaps, for shopping and laundry, but life?
And yet, a list is entirely appropriate here - if I can persuade you of its honesty, then its whisper of tidyness will speak more of how uncluttered this moment is than any description of a sense of... absence... could hope to achieve.

So, this is all that there is: bullets without a gun.

Increasing shock, like seeing the ground accelerating towards you.
A losing struggle for unity, an old married couple seeing each other in an irrevocably different light.
And, most tantalisingly all, an echo of what I've really been looking for all my life. He's close, I know it.

It's a shame I no longer have even so much as a frame to put his picture in. As if such a thing could even make sense to what I've become.

Briefly, I wonder what on earth is going to happen next.