Go embarass yourself

Any moment now, you’ll blink and it’ll all be over. You’ll find yourself far away. Somewhere cold and alone. Life cannot be… this. Whatever you’re seeing. Life cannot be warm and comforting. It hasn’t been so far. Sure, there was a lot of good memories in between all the terrible, traumatic things trying to devour or dissect you. But none of those things – Monster or machine – ever invoked this fear in you. None of those fond memories ever caused you such joy. You want to cry. You don’t want to blink, to lose whatever delusion you’re trapped in, to fall away from this instance. But – sadly – we don’t control much in life, much less our bodies.

You blink. You hold your eyes closed tight. Both so you don’t cry and to, hopefully, burn whatever you saw into your mind’s eye forever.

Mute’s voice reaches out to you, “Please don’t cry. I… I can pack it back up if you want and we can just forget about it?”

You try to say, I'm not sad crying, but the pressure inside you threatens to burst through. So you shake your head and press your tongue against the roof of your mouth, as if it could stop the lump in your throat from tumbling forth. You must look like an idiot standing there in ill-fitting clothes, hands clutching at your chest like an old lady and her pearls.

Sniffling, you open your eyes to see.

Nope, instant tears. Nope, nope, nope, nope.

“Do you want me to… do something?” Mute sounds anxious and you swear you can almost taste it in your mouth. Oh, right, could also be snot. Yep. You are the pinnacle of beauty. You give him several small nods, hoping to convey, yes please, and not, oh god, I’m about to sneeze.

You hear him shuffle to his feet. Taking a step forward. Then a step backwards. Then Mute asks, “Do you want me to… uh, help you sit down?” You give him another frenzy of nods.

Reality is a funny thing and has a mind completely of its own. A mean, taunting mind of its own. All around you, reality is warping and bending, making insignificant things gargantuan and important bits imperceptible. Mute’s steps seem to echo with the thundering sound of impending doom as he nears you. Timidly, eyes still closed, you peel a hand from your chest and extend it to him, moving through the air like you would water. Thick and heavy. When his hand takes hold of yours, you can feel the fire and sweat of his palm in every single nerve on your fingers.

Mute doesn’t take you far. Just a couple of steps. But with each, you feel fabric swaying around your legs, touching your skin, a terrible reminder of your earlier, awful, decision. As he guides you down to sit, you feel the pants hit ground before you, and then the warmth of your butt against it as you sit. You are literally in hell. Pyres of anxiety churning black smoke as it burns at your senses.

You took off the training wheels, thinking you were going for a quiet ride. Instead you find yourself behind the wheel of a bus full of people, driving down a cliff.

You open your eyes.