First created October 5th, 2023.
Last edited December 6th, 2023.
A horse is a horse is a horse.
A wall of green borders my vision, ever shifting, ever changing. Faces blend into an incoherent mass, speaking in tongues and screaming ‘till their lungs give out. The screams have harmony to them, a mangled choir singing a pained, hoarse chorus. The lights give out. Shattered glass forms shapes on a carpet of static. I recognize the shapes, yet I do not understand them.
A cold breeze sweeps through the sealed glass windows. I hear the buzzing of a swarm of hornets in the thick concrete walls. A shiver runs up and down my spine, I am a pine tree and the squirrels are unrelenting. Reality sets in.
I am in a plastic chair with wheels on it. I am the plastic chair with wheels on it. I am sent down a flight of stairs, shattering into innumerable pieces on the floor below.
I wake up. I am in bed. The bed is unnaturally cold. I blink, and for a moment, the blanket is ants. Everything is ants. I blink again. Everything is normal. What is normal? Normal is a conspiracy upheld by the people around me so they can be comfortable. Why be comfortable, when you can know? Know what? I don’t.
A horse is a horse is a horse.
postscript: I really do not remember what this was about.