November 24, 2015

My mother’s neck had been reduced to a tube of toothpaste and when the seams on the side were peeled open, her spinal cord was revealed to be a bloody coil of wire. I cried for we were not able to piece everything back together.

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I ran through multiple buses that were parked around the school. At one point I had to slow down because people were paying before they got off the bus.

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I walked into an empty classroom, fully aware that there was no class today. I stared at the corner of the room between the window and chalkboard.

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It was day 6 of 7. I ran out of the closed storefront and into the streets. I had arrived in a multistory complex with neon checkerboard patterns on the floor and walls. It turned into day.