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You dream of the night
The inky blackness of a starless sky threatens to swallow you whole. A crescent moon, the only point of light. The moon turns and reveals its millenia worn face. It opens it's mouth to speak, but there is no sound. Instead you hear a hard voice inside your mind.
"Why not enter the door?" The words resonate in your bones, demanding an answer. You tell the moon that you had been up late last night, binge watching the third season of News Radio. That going through a mystery door seemed like a real hassle.
The moon appears to nod in understanding. The moon reaches out again, this time with images of some of his favorite moments from the show. He's clearly a big fan of Phil Hartman. You nod in silent solidarity and wipe away a single tear shed for the tragety of his passing.
The moon fades and the light with him. You--