Flat White


There is a butter knife, and cardboard white bread, and my hands and nothing else. I know that I am alone and that every other living thing has passed away. I have to do something but I can’t even think. Now I am nothing but my head, looking over at my body, and I blink so slowly, dying with my eyes half-opened. There is a beach now, but the sun is blinding me and too hot, so I run into the water, which is clear white, not blue. There is some sort of presence in the water, so I kick down at it with both feet. It opens its mouth and my own motion propels me into the thing. It closes its jaws decapitating me once more. My eyes won’t open but I know that if they would I’d be looking at my body again.


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