unlikelyfuture

as she was stuffing that pathetic travel cushion in and barely closing the backpack he was getting more and more worked up with rage. why can't we just go? what the heck got into you? dead, blocked, her throat too knotted in, incapable of any reply.

no, actually she remembers a heavy dark moist word like lead climbing inside her body, from the bile up. she couldn't stop it by clenching her teeth, so the word managed to come out clearly: SOULLESS.

next second, shoes were flying out the door and onto the staircase, bags as if by magic already outside the apartment. angry face uttering loud slow-motioned words and pointing.

alright, damn, way to go! bags a bit too heavy, the light outside a bit too bright.
that initial moment of pure bafflement. now what? crossing the bridge into the city, a wet small piece of paper read: WE ARE THE ENGINEERS OF OUR OWN PERCEPTION