La douleur exquise

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Another day, another hard-fought battle.

You try very hard not to let it get to you, but the harder you swerve away from the airborne bullets, the more it adapts, and no amount of dodging will allow you to move fast enough to evade multiple successive rounds in a row. You lose, eventually. You watch all the stars in the sky on a dark night, and you send static signals for it to lend succour. And you wait, and wait, and wait some more, until thirst starts building up, and wait further still, hunger, frustrations, sadness, anger, madness, hollowness, void, and yet to this minute still waiting.

The battle rages on. Three full moons, all sweetness engaged.

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