Amiss
There’s a strangeness looming in the air, thick and icy and unsettling. It started two weeks ago when Corrigan returned from D.C. This apprehension is a thousand caterpillars crawling inside of me—their fuzzy bodies trying to escape through every pore, up and out, eating, and freeing themselves. They’re crawling through my veins, into my fingertips, out of my belly button; thousands come pouring out. I can feel their little leg prints crawling through my nostrils, down to the back of my of my throat, flooding my mouth with little hairs. And I’m choking on it; I’m choking on all the unease.
I know something’s gone wrong.
Deep Sleep Initiative

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