elektra30185

In the darkening twilight, I often find myself... lost. Memory disintegrates, personality withers, and the touch of plastic feels strange on my skin. The dark sucks in my soul, reels it in like a drifting trout, and hangs it up to dry next to hundreds of others like it. We dry, slowly, blowing in the false breeze, absorbing the taste of smoke and salt. How long we hang, I don't know. But, when I'm abruptly cut down and thrown back into the water, the sensation is like a gasp. Moisture soaks into my skin, and I'm within myself again, though shrunken and empty from the change. We are not human. Oh, yes, on the outside we appear so. But look a