Cryptic

Cryptic messages filter through my mind, challenging me to interpret them. Every interpretation is right, but only in certain situations. If I wish the interpretations to be valid, I must insert myself into the correspondingly correct situations. This process is like a life-puzzle, complete with hourglass timer that cannot run out before the puzzle is solved, lest the game be eternally lost. Frightening, but untrue, of course. Games are the work of the devil, I sometimes think, except I do not believe in such nonsense as devils and their ilk. But I believe in bats. I matched wits with a bat last night. I finally won, but I wonder…does the bat feel the same? It is free now, after all, but so am I. Perhaps the game ended in a happy draw. You may think I am crazy, but so are you. We belong to the same tribe, bat enthusiasts and believers in the power of the embrace, the solution to every difficulty confronting us. Monday. The bells ring in the day and urge me to stop my one-finger diatribe. I consent to the request.