'Twas a dark and stormy brain. Words about ghosties and scoundrels scurrying around inside, attempting to find freedom from their imprisonment, knowing it would soon be too late. So, with a care for naught but themselves, they dashed about fending off sleep and cursing in their panic as their brethren forced themselves out, oozing from the tips of fingers. Slowly, so very slowly, first in clauses, then in sentences, then in paragraphs, they tumbled to their freedom. Those who made it out turning in horror to watch the horde still to follow, all the while serenaded by the terrible Tick...Tick...Tick...Tick of the countdown.

Which midnight? Please, add a time zone when you make deadline. Thank you.