Dizzy Land

It was sometime quite late at night -- possibly around midnight, if such a thing were measurable. All was quiet. Except...

ptonk-tonk.

ptonk-tonk.

ptonk-tonk.

ptonk-tonk.

If one were to follow the odd, rhythmic sound to its source, one would find Susan Sto Helit sitting on a bench outside the First Aid station, bouncing a red rubber ball off a nearby wall. As with most things that she did, she tossed and caught it with unerring accuracy every time.

It wasn't insomnia, she told herself; it was a sort of intellectual restlessness, brought on by the general calm of the place and the general lack of world-ending crises. For which she was welcome, but sometimes one found oneself not at all tired, uninterested in reading, but too alert to sleep. She didn't want to go too far, what with Calvin sleeping nearby, so she simply went outside, with the ball that had somehow ended up at the station (probably Calvin's doing).

She wished, idly, for some owls or birds. Wind in the trees. Anything to make a sound, really. At times like this, she even missed the din of Ankh-Morpork.

ptonk-tonk.

ptonk-tonk.

((Open to anyone who might be wandering around the park in the small hours of the night.))