Dawn of Thursawday
It only happens on Thursawday.
A pinhole of light lasers through the black and strikes Donner’s naked eyeball. He swatted the void.
“I’m alive,” he whispered through a dry and dusty throat. “Again.”
An omnipresent voice hissed: “Your ssssstory can only be told, only be updated, only on Thursssssawday.”