Daytime is eyes everywhere, burning tyrant above casting needles of open sight. You know they can't see through you, you're not transparent, but still you cannot but think of breaking CCTV cameras and mobile phones, crushing eyeballs. You fear that these thoughts too are visible, so eventually you sleep through these hours, preferring to come out of your hole after dark. Dodge, walk away, be gone.
The cameras are the worst. They neither blink nor look away. You can't argue with them either, and yet they cut out whatever they want, sharing it with their friends. One points a camera at you and your mind goes black: still conscious, still awake, someone else's words coming out of your mouth, obscenities inaccessible to memory later, leaving you to guess the worst. Dodge, walk away, be gone.
All physical contact reminds you of being too close: a handshake feels like a thousand pins, hands grasping everywhere, you cannot breathe. A hug is torture. Your doctor says it's not your fault, she points to sets of causes, the usual suspects. Secretly you don't believe her. If it's all your fault, you half-reason, then maybe you aren't just a thing. A friend is safe ground, as is a story, a book, a comforting thought. Dodge, walk away, be gone.
The others speak. You try to say something but, feeling stupid, censor yourself half-way, smelling your own sweat. Have you got a different dictionary than the others? They seem to misunderstand on purpose. What are they laughing about? What's with their smiles? Wall after wall between you and the others, eggshell-thin eggshell-white sheets upon which can be drawn anything, tear it down, start over, new day, new chance. Dodge, walk away, be gone.
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