Mara woke with the taste of iron in her mouth.

It was a cold taste. Metallic. Sharp.

She lay still.

The ceiling was white.

It was a hospital ceiling.

Or a clinic.

It was a place of sterile air.

The air smelled of lavender.

It smelled of nothing.

It smelled of old paper.

She sat up.

The sheets were thin.

They were blue.

They were damp.

Her hands were bare.

Her fingers were long.

They trembled.

She looked at them.

They were not her hands.

Or perhaps they were.

It was hard to tell.

The room was small.

It was a box.

It was a cell.

The walls were beige.

They were painted.

The paint was peeling.

At the corners.

There was a window.

It was high up.

It was narrow.

The light was grey.

It was morning.

It was noon.

It was never day.

It was never night.

It was always now.

Mara stood up.

Her feet were cold.

They touched the floor.

The floor was tile.

It was cold.

It was hard.

It was unyielding.

She walked to the door.

The door was wood.

It was heavy.

It was closed.

She knocked.

No one answered.

She knocked again.

No one answered.

She pulled the handle.

It did not turn.

It was locked.

She pushed.

It did not move.

She pulled.

It did not move.

She stopped.

She breathed.

Her breath was shallow.

It was quick.

It was silent.

She looked at the wall.

There was a mark.

It was a stain.

It was brown.

It was old.

It was a word.

No.

It was not a word.

It was a shape.

It was a circle.

It was a void.

It was a mouth.

It was open.

It was waiting.

Mara touched it.

Her finger sank in.

It was wet.

It was warm.

It was alive.

She pulled her hand back.

The stain remained.

It did not smear.

It did not dry.

It waited.

She turned away.

She sat on the floor.

The floor was cold.

She hugged her knees.

She held them tight.

She held them close.

She was small.

She was alone.

She was here.

She was not here.

It was a mistake.

It was a dream.

It was a lie.

It was true.

It was real.

It was false.

It was nothing.

It was everything.

She closed her eyes.

The dark was thick.

It was heavy.

It was soft.

It was hard.

It was sharp.

It was dull.

It was bright.

It was dark.

She opened her eyes.

The room was the same.

The light was the same.

The silence was the same.

The stain was the same.

It was always the same.

It was never new.

It was never old.

It was eternal.

It was momentary.

It was both.

It was neither.

Mara stood up.

She walked to the window.

The glass was clean.

It was clear.

It was cold.

She put her hand on it.

The glass was warm.

It was hot.

It was burning.

She pulled her hand back.

The glass was cold.

It was clear.

It was empty.

She looked outside.

There was nothing.

There was fog.

It was white.

It was thick.

It was dense.

It was solid.

It was liquid.

It was gas.

It was air.

It was nothing.

It was everything.

She could not see.

She could not hear.

She could not smell.

She could not taste.

She could not touch.

She could not feel.

She was nothing.

She was void.

She was absence.

She was presence.

She was Mara.

She was not Mara.

She was the room.

She was the wall.

She was the door.

She was the stain.

She was the light.

She was the dark.

She was the silence.

She was the sound.

She was the noise.

She was the quiet.

She was the breath.

She was the pause.

She was the stop.

She was the start.

She was the end.

She was the middle.

She was the edge.

She was the center.

She was the outside.

She was the inside.

She was the above.

She was the below.

She was the left.

She was the right.

She was the front.

She was the back.

She was the here.

She was the there.

She was the now.

She was the then.

She was the when.

She was the where.

She was the who.

She was the what.

She was the why.

She was the how.

She was the if.

She was the then.

She was the so.

She was the but.

She was the and.

She was the or.

She was the nor.

She was the yet.

She was the for.

She was the against.

She was the with.

She was the without.

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She was the without.

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She was the without.

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