The world is muted. The pitter-patter of keyboard keys is very far away. From the other side of my window, something breathes, cool and rustling.

Should I wander, barefoot, into the night? Let it take my hair up on its invisible wings, soft against my face; let it scrape the soles of my feet and raise the hair on my arms? Follow the sidewalk until I'm good and lost, or stolen by crimes?

Hands on the grass, no keys, only paper. Tear it out with my teeth, strain through them a meaning, pull up those words from deep down, pull them out! Grab a handful of something, make it count. Words on my tongue, tired to get loose, will it satisfy to have my neck in a noose? Let me go? Throw you off? Dive into the water, black, gone under the current, "take that train underwater, then we could talk it through"?

This is a hallucination. This is a dream. This is a test, you're testing me, you're tapping into some psychological energy buried in a time capsule. Hidden in my wall. Some ancient treasure underground, under piles and piles of dust, locked in a safe. This does not exist, it does not exist. I do not exist.

But if you could read my mind (Abrupt ending).