1. Once a year, there's an hour which doesn't exist. The clocks go back and an hour after 1 am, it is 1 am yet again. This gap is dead-space, null and void. For the duration of this hour, nothing meaningful can occur. Normal people sleep through it, never giving it a second thought.
2. They gather in a circle, an odd collection of odd beings. There is the terminal insomniac, addled by sleep deprivation, unaware of anything. There is the practical witch, armed with charms and spells to cast at this most powerful of witching hours. There is the eternal stranger, an unknown ghost, exiled through time itself. There is the lovesick child, abandoned and lost, full of doubt and fear. There is the moon itself, casting a pale light over the grim scene. There is the one who does not exist, who only flickers into reality for the duration.
3. The strangers stand in their circle and watch each other, gazes cast through the cool night air. It's cold tonight, and the glittering snow dances in streetlights. The looming church clock clicks once, and it is 1 am. The falling snow pauses on the wind and for a moment everything is still.
4. In turn, they each drop their offerings into a pile. The insomniac has a can of melatonin, unopened. The witch bears a single rose, thorny and angry. The stranger offers a $10 plastic watch, stopped at 11:27. The child came empty handed and so offers a dream, of a future with an unreciprocated love. The moon offers light and beauty, badly needed. The one who does not exist, who was me, offers their presence.
5. In turn, they each state their desire. The insomniac wants to silence the voices. The witch seeks to render certain an unknown future. The stranger craves to be witnessed. The child begs to forget an almost true future. The moon wants for nothing. I need to exist for a moment longer.
6. The wind howls and the night screams. We huddle closer for warmth, for safety. The rules do not apply tonight and it can be felt in the air. The monsters are out in force. They parade down the streets, dancing and chanting. Fires burn. The night is ice cold and beautiful and colours dance in the sky. For one moment, we are eternal. The city is ours tonight.
7. Privately, we consider our wounds. We all bear the scars of waking life, the gash marks of the chains of the day. It is the look within frightened eyes, a connection with a passing stranger. A nod at the sad face in the bus window, a recognition of common sadness. It is the way we are the same person, how we strangers understand each other the way no one else ever will. We are all one. We see each other. We hold each other.
8. Nature does not understand or respect time. The concept of a stopped clock is a human one. The moon reminds us of this, the way it looks over us. Leaves rustle, full of the creatures of the night. Perhaps before we smothered the world in concrete, this was how they were. Wild and free. The world takes advantage of the ceasefire. Trees tear through cement roads, broken cars tossed aside. The oceans rise and drown humanity. A thousand generations go in the blink of an eye, impossible evolutions singing songs of violence and beauty. For one hour, nature is unbound. For one hour, nature is winning.
9. It is in the way we strip ourselves naked. There are no repercussions tonight. For the remainder of the hour, nothing can change. Nothing can occur. And in that, there is peace. It is in the reveal, as shirts drop away to show old scars. A trace of fingertips on your lips interrupting as you steal a kiss. We are the monsters tonight. We do what we want. Nothing can witness or stop us.
10. In turn, they each fix each other. The witch works a sleeping spell. The stranger imparts true wisdom about the path of life. The child listens curiously and openly. The moon encourages us to strive for the impossible. The one who does not exist has nothing to offer. The insomniac knows how to make peace with oblivion.
11. In turn, they each enjoy their peace. The insomniac is sleeping soundly. The witch has accepted change. The stranger feels seen. The child sends that terrifying text. The moon remains overhead, a little brighter. I feel myself fade again. We each love a little more.
12. It is 1 am again. We were never here.