Drawings

I decided to look through the pictures I'd drawn of the stars, now that I've got nothing to do but sit here and wait. I had thought they were all the same, that there'd been no change. Turns out I was wrong.

Each of the drawings is different, though at the time, I felt like I was drawing the same thing each night. The differences aren't subtle, either. The number and shape of the constellations is different in each one; in three of the drawings, I've put a large object somewhere on the page, brighter than anything else except the moon.

I'm past the point where stuff like this worries me too much. My senses, or my memories, or both, are breaking down. It's what the mal does, what I've seen it do to people. As I look up at the stars, I can see that they don't match any of the drawings. They seem real, but who knows? I could be seeing them wrong, or seeing the drawings wrong. Maybe I drew them incorrectly in the first place. Maybe the stars themselves are changing; who knows?

One comfort is that I should die of thirst before my mind has completely broken down.