Chewing my fingernails. Pulling hairs from the roots. My stomach rumbles from too much coffee. Shut up, stomach. Nobody asked you. My fingernail is clicking rapidly on the desk, thumping like Morse code. It must have been going at it for a minute before I stopped it. My mouth is dry. I roll my tongue around to collect moisture. Saliva feels like paint. I’d get water but I don’t feel like moving.

In lieu of needing to finish my work, I travel the internet, looking for my next fix. Another hair gets tweezed by overgrown fingernails. I’m a mess, but the part of me that recognizes this isn’t even conscious now. I’m sucked into the internet world, full of videos and articles and blogging.

Maybe if I shut my eyes, just for a little while, I just might wake. Back. Up.


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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session XXII

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