Description

What Circles (Lexington Avenue Express - Small Fiction)Blackness, warmth, the smell of plastic so powerful it permeates each superficial, panicked breathing I drink. “You possess a lighting,” the thin voice squawks followed closely by a brief burst of static.“What … WHAT!” I shout but large, putrid atmosphere slams my words again, resonating, international. I sit-up in the pitch-black, striking my falling … and brow and falling … Phrases flying past, I may experience them prodding me. “You have a light and a stereo,” they ultimately state, surprising me conscious with your final, accustomed snort of static.Eclipsed fingertips proceed to my brow.