I am so stupid, so easily fooled. It's really almost funny. If I could lift a finger I would gladly kill myself.

Disappear, she says. I love that word.

Sorrow is like the ocean and sometimes I wish my heart would stop.

Reality is in the business of killing off fiction.

I must be dead for there is nothing but blue snow and the furious silence of a gunshot.

The digital sunset always looks better than the real thing, always. Because a sunset generated by the basic package of yellow sun and blue sky is unreliable. Today it may be stunning, hypnotic. Tomorrow it may be lifeless and dull, a white sky scorched with yellow. Tomorrow the sky will be velvet.

They give me a shot and a handful of pills to swallow. I stare at the thin red wall of my inner eyelid and listen to my skin and I can't be sure how the medication is affecting me. I can't remember how I'm supposed to feel. I can't remember my name. I have never seen my face.