My stomach empty of its contents, my mind empty of its thoughts, my arms and legs devoid of blood and bone marrow.

I’m a bunch of empty space surrounded by a shell of impersonal skin, vacuum-sealed.

I can’t feel because I don’t want to feel.

The one thing I do feel is not so much a feeling as it is a vague notion – the notion that I’ve been suddenly shaken awake from a pleasant dream and dropped headfirst into this huddled mass, without warning and without regards.

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