The cold glass is smooth. Black, liquid. I peer at it, there's someone standing on the other side, behind it. The figure slouches, and I see the choices the figure makes. Like a horrible nightmare, it is strangely unearthly. I can't scream.
***
Metal balls, melt into the surface, things morph smoothly. Is it possible to be this disconnected and create a facade convincing enough to fool the best? To feel intensely and not feel at all??
***
How does one know? What will ever make oneself completely sure? I've taken these things forever for granted, never known the instability? Maybe cut off the outgrowth? Blood spurts, does it hurt? Strange, I might not feel a thing. Or maybe feel and not know. So that they manifest years later, hasn't it happened already.
***
The muted background suddenly comes alive again. Jerked back into motion. Thoughts shoved back, where they belong.
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