Sleep to the next morning. ('The Man Who Sold the World' Story Branch)

"Good night world...

...better not run off..."

[A/N: This branch will conform to a more story-oriented focus, with inklings of characters, plot and, accordingly, plot-induced restraints. As such, the primary narrative will take on a more traditional storytelling tone and momentum as well as exercises in worldbuilding and lore.

Happy readings!]

Tweet-tweet.

I awake with a stretch.

Everything appears... normal.

The crack of a few joints sprinkle the air. My blanket crumples under my legs, both limbs weighing upon it as I indulgently pandiculate in the company of a lip-smacking croon.

A few birds flutter outside, and after a quick look, I scan them to find that they are sparrows. I go over to my window and lift up the sill. Why, I'm not entirely certain. I've never bothered before. But more freewheeling, I realize, my whims are, now that the world is run on them. Spontaneity must come with the territory.

"Hey there, gliders." I watch the pepper of birds circling around when one descends onto the ledge. I look at it; it looks back, head cocked. It's a beady-eyed creature. I notice a reddish streak sewn across its left eye, and scoff -- not callously. "Well, you're a special one."

Suddenly, the bird spreads its wings.

"Hey!"

With a lift, it takes off.

Before I can put a feather in my cap, it has flown into my room.