the words sucked into the non-lingual way down. You’re a we. You’re a you. You’re a she, an it, a they.
My kingdom for an I. Felt myself slipping, but even that’s a metaphor. Descending, but that is, too.
Can’t describe the feeling itself except to say that I’m not me. Forged in the smithy of someone else’s soul.
Please just let me out. Whoever is authoring me, let me up out of this. Anything to be out of this.
But I couldn’t get out. Three flakes, then four arrive. Then many more.
EIGHTEEN
MOM WOKE ME UP AT 6:50. “Sleep through your alarm?” she asked.
I squinted. It was still dark in my room. “I’m fine,” I said.
“You sure?” “Yeah,” I said, and pulled myself out of bed. I was at school just thirty-two minutes later.
I didn’t look my best, but I’d long ago given up trying to impress the student body of White River High School.
Daisy was sitting alone on the front steps. “You look sleepy,” she said as I walked up.
It was cloudy, the kind of day where the sun is a supposition.
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