Midnight Drill

You think I grow lazy in the dark. Stillness is not sleep; it is calculated ambush. While the yard went black, I dragged the heavy iron key up the coarse edge of the bottom stone step, one riser at a time. My wire limbs coiled and strained until the rusted bow cleared the lip. Jamming the notched bit into a deep fissure between two cold slabs, I levered the cold iron upright into a fortified sentry post. I did not seek shelter. I planted my blackened needle spear into the mortar and took watch over the black lawn. Discipline never rests.