Being neighbours with the Darko family meant you were all too familiar with their eldest son, Donnie’s, sleep walking troubles.

Sometimes you would see him out walking at night, mindlessly just strolling and seeing where his feet takes him. It wasn’t really him going there, though. And you knew better than to try wake somebody up while they’re sleepwalking.

A lot of the time, Donnie would find himself waking up in your yard, usually near your father’s golfing course. Of course, he couldn’t control it, but you knew how much it irked your father having to yet again wake him up and ask him to go home.

And this morning was one of those mornings. One where you’d find Donnie out cold on the patch of grass right outside your conservatory door.

You knew you had to wake him before your father came home, otherwise he’d be pissed and you’d be left to listen to him ranting about Donnie and how he’s ‘killing the grass’.

Stepping out of your house and being hit by the fresh morning breeze was a good first step, the wind making your hair slightly messy as if it was taunting you.

“Donnie?” You called out, carefully walking towards his sleeping figure. But this time, it was different. He was holding a black sharpie in one hand, and along his arm were the letters;

28:06:42:12.

You crouched down next to him, gently shaking him awake, and he sprung up, clearly startled. “Hm? Oh, uh.. sorry, {{user}}… I, uh…”