Dawn has a sickly hue, breaking even earlier than that shunted hour shoving forward, molecules in disarray electrons buzzing through nerves, my face feeling slapped. Thoughts misfire, stutter, retreat, I need sleep. Propelled ahead an hour but the bones object and stall, travelling forward heavy, a canon ball destined to fall, landing with a solid whump. I am flesh, not fit to speed through time, a pitchfork at my back, my cells deconstructed, reconstructed, a timesheet noting I slack. I close my eyes and try, and try to go back.