arms stretching. shoulders convulsing.
mouth agape, fingers crash into keyboards. where were the colors he was meant to see, the ones others would not? static stabbing at his ears with tiny needles, little blood prickles trickling down his ears, fingers idly turning the volume knob ever so louder, ever so louder, ever so
arms stretching, shoulders convulsing.
the monsters would come soon, shadow, only the static could keep them away, clawing at the edge of seeing, pulling, threatening, shrieking in colors only silence could paint, colors of blood, of bile, snot, pus, urine, smelling of blood, bile, snotpusurine
a loud groan.
a pause in the noise.
break in the static.
green, peaceful, a stream of lights coalescing between bursts of monitor light. shadows bleed away at the edge of vision. jaw quivers, shock, awe, happiness, relief.
arms stretching shoulders convulsing
all the world was green, no more transmitter picking up the signals to keep him safe, no more monitor to tell when where to look. just aural radiance, the aurora of deafness pouring out his ears, little cells bursting never needing to heal.
pupils dilate. a smile weakly forms under foaming mouth. an echo across memory, resonating within him, the vibration of cosmic radiation, the peace of being one with the cosmos.
armstretchingshoulderconvul
nine thirty. fleeting glimpse of a clock on the wall.
"What do you make of it?" he asked, trying to fight every impulse to scratch his unshaven chin while wearing the glove.
She took another look at the smattering of parts, feeding into each other using wires frayed and spliced. Electrical tape, folded into shapes, marked each, even those seemingly leading nowhere. The smell of singed carpet still lingered in the air.
"I don't know," she finally sighed, staring again at the headphones broken in the fall. "Maybe there's just something we're not seeing."
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