0102. Awake
I WAKE brIEFLY TO BLINDING white. Is it over?
Then I hear you laughing from the back of my mind, a sound that envelops what remains of my consciousness, ballooning like a caricature of peace. I hear my own voice say Not here, no hospitals. “Dr. Hodel, in my phone—”
“Julian—”
Her face swims before mine, lamplights of uncertainty. She mutters, more to herself than to me, “I’m sure you can afford the emergency room.”
There’s something about her face, like a warning I can’t yet interpret.
It’s not exactly like the others, but it feels familiar, like a dream.
I hear myself say no, feel my head twisting sharply to the side, a sudden wave of nausea so hard I think my head might be exploding.
A burst of black, shot through with stars.
I feel something rip apart, lacerating my intestines.
Torn stitching down the seams of what I am, and what I’ve done.
Distantly, that hacking cough, that gaping mouth stained black with rot, a spread of toxic spores. Has it come for me now?
Or maybe it’s just vomit.
“Oh my god—are these pills?”
Black again inside my head, deliverance unto the dark.