#26:

Sequence 8

I was: thrown in a kiln
to crystallize, and then glazed teal
on the fifth day.
People from all over would come and
point at the Clay Man.
At night, I was laughed by
some jet-red guard dogs, whose
howls reverberated around my fragile ears.
I was: waterboarded for knowing
the wrong things. Drowning under a silk rag until my head filled with
clay. They let me out of my cage
later for recreation. Someone punched
me in the back of the skull and it fell off,
accordingly. (I was, after all, newly
escaped from the gallery.) You get tens
of fresh perspectives when your
head's being used as a
kickball. I was: the last person to
leave class. The robot with an AK-
48 pointed my way out, and so I left quickly,
in silent obedience.
I took one step into the hallway when a gun
roared to life behind me, and I fell through the trapdoor forever.
Those shots looped distortion, morphing benevolently into
alarm-singing: "it's 6:15, I love you, wake up"