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̷P̷R̷O̷L̷O̷G̷U̷E
AND HERE IT WAS, the dream again.
Wind pulled at her dark brown hair, carrying it in the breeze to lash against pallid skin. Waves broke on the coast and shattered like glass, glinting in the moonlight, a spark of blue against the inky darkness of NIGHT.
She was not meant to be here. She knew that much, she could taste her fear in her mouth, so bitter on her tongue. But things that were not meant to be happened every second of every minute of every day and here before her, shiny as a freshly wrapped present on Christmas day, was OPPORTUNITY.
She hid in plain sight, swallowed in the white starch of a lab coat. She scanned her ID, the trill of acceptance rang in her ears. From above, an oppressive digital eye swivelled on a mount and paranoia itched but singularity of purpose pushed it aside. Come morning, she would be GONE.
Plastic tubes. The steady beep of her own heart. Blue light, blue screens. The world in pictures, flipped through like a slideshow. Ailment, disease, germ, illness, infection, microbe, microorganism, pathogen, sickness, bacillus. LEBENSPHILOSOPHIE.
"There are things ... and there are ... unknown and in ... are the doors of ... " - ... Huxley She squinted at the words until they were nothing but lines of code on a screen, the pure binary of 1s and 0s and everything and NIL.
Sliding, crawling, hands chubby with youth on the grime of the garage floor. Cold concrete, ice gripping joints. Young eyes following the light, to the towering form of her brother's hands, deft and quick and blue, blue, BLUE.
