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Weekly Contest #335
I woke up with certainty that something had not become my own. My arms were not my own. My legs were not my own. My body lay heavy on the sheets; I could not feel them. My arms felt as if they had been disassembled and rearranged a thousand times by things that were not me. Crawling. Flying. Biting. Nails biting my fingers. No blood. Tools are not on my skin. I needed a cigarette. Tiny pressures built up under my skin. They were not on me. They were controlling me. I did not open my mouth to alter it. The ceiling above my bed seemed further ...
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