• 157



    A plexiglass room. Someone is extracting earwax from another’s ear, swab after swab, using a giant Q-tip. The earwax goes through transformations though, resembling anonymous and nondescript rock formations but always exuding some foreboding essence that each shift like Mr. Potato Head’s features down the years, finally congealing at something simple, sublime, but still disquieting.

    The shifts in time were the important parts though and it felt like super-millenial geological eons had passed in that room before you were slowly coming to your conscious senses.

    “I…must…be…unconscious again.”

    You look down for your hands and feet but nothing is there – literally nothing, not the “color” of black or white, just nothing. This terrifying feeling jolts you back to consciousness again.

    “ABRASOKA!” you shout as you’re suddenly awake in the middle of a crowded waiting area. You almost yelled ‘Allelujah’ in your gratitude for being released from that torment and then you remembered you’d been involuntarily subjected to it in the first place.

    “Or was I?,” you wonder before noticing the others giving you looks of confusion. “At least I didn’t yell abracadabra,” you tell yourself before discovering that you must be waiting for an Amtrak train with nothing but your clothes and $29 in your pocket. You’re glad that intrigue has trumped any overwhelming feelings of uncertainty…so far.


    If you decide to purchase a ticket for wherever this next train is heading, go to page 201.

    If you feel like clearing your head a little and taking a walk to the nearby bus depot, go to page 111.


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