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by Dan Armstrong

Hear that? That faint siren in the distance? They're coming for me. Yes, as certain as dawn tomorrow, they are coming.

I know too much. That's it. The whole damn thing. I just know too much.

Not such a great quantity, mind you, just a critical fact. And I can't let go of it. I've been screaming it out my window all night. My neighbors must think me drunk or mad, shouting at passersby while others try to sleep, shouting at passing cars, shouting at dogs in the street. Someone must have called me in, complaining about my vulgar reverence in the middle of the night.

You see, something else, some larger conceiving thing, is dwelling in my mind–most likely in all minds. I'm not certain if those of the sirens are trying to hide this or if they simply don't know. One way or another, they are after me for daring to announce it–daring to scream it out loud.

I can't help it. And I am afraid.

The thought is so unsettling reality shifts about me like headlights in the night. I try to assess this thing within me, but it does no good. It's too big. There is nowhere to start, nowhere to end. It just pours out whenever I speak. And to anyone I might tell? I get a shaking head or a sad, suspicious look. But I can't deny what I feel so strongly. I will doubt everything else until I can reconcile with this thing within me. The starry sky seems a lie, all history a cheap novel, geometry a slick magician's inverse, compared to this knowledge, this living truth that I know. That I feel.

I'm scared and I'm confused. Scared of what I know and confused by what to do with it–other than shout it out!

But the siren is growing louder now, and I can see the whirling blue lights reflecting off the buildings many blocks away. They are coming for me. I'm not sure what they will do with me when they get here, but I don't intend to find out.

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