Terrifying, to wake before light, before eyes worked. Makela lay under the covers trying to discern how she was oriented in the bed, and how the bed was oriented in the room, and where the door was. Her eyes opened. Saw nothing. She tried hard to recall where her head was by flexing her feet. Feet were at a constant distance from the brain. Eyes can sometimes see in the dark if they wait a while. Makela waited. But still. On this night, she could not even make out a lighter dark within the dark of her room. Dresser, chair, floorboards, door: everything was similarly dark. Makela knew that dying would be like this. That she would live a while more and then her eyes would cease to work. She would no longer see. Everything would be evenly gone.