730. It's been 730 days. The palm tree that bears the marks of time on a beach that's made of the stuff of hourglasses. It's ironic, really. To be surrounded by time but not feel its weight.

My skin should be saggier than this, but I noticed it the other day. I haven't changed. I mean, I have. I have new scars, freckles, and sun spots, but I'm still me—still stuck.

GODS! When will it end? My pri...

The robin flaps her wings and lands on the sill just outside the window

The endless streams of light and water pour in despite attempts at plugging the holes

Math seems futile in a moment like this one

Captured

Enraptured

The empty space makes sounds in the rafters like echoes in my mind

The scratch of pen and ink on papers next to me, but not mine

I'm lost in the sounds

Rhythmic

Intrinsic

The ne...

I lay there on the table, aching everywhere, but not knowing how to trace the origin. As I come to, I hear a masculine voice, "As you can see, we incapacitate the subject, but not completely. I'll demonstrate the next phase after we engage with the subject."

The blurred subject moves closer to me, but my eyes are too hazy to make out any detail beyond the grainy sound of his voice and the gray on...