I've no idea how long I've been here. It’s impossible to track time in a timeless place. Winter does not become Spring, night does not become day; there’s nothing but the inky black sky above. Perhaps it’s been days, weeks, months or even years. I don’t think I’ve been here that long, but it already feels like an eternity. Time stretches infinitely longer when there is no sleep to break up the ennui of each day. Is death nothing more than the worst case of insomnia imaginable?
Except for the constant night, there seems to be no consistency to this place. Nothing remains the same. The faces, the people, even the landscape continuously change.
Who dreamed up this madness?