Act 1, Scene 1
Who prays for your water droplets?
Alarm clocks blaring—our sightless hands search the nightstand and windowsill trying to dismiss the inevitable arrival of morning. Still despite our success of stopping the noises, sunlight casually makes its way through our blinds, lighting our four walls. We drag ourselves from our disheveled bed like zombies most days, only to be fully awoken by the beads of water which commit suicide dawn after dawn against our tired and fragile bodies.