THE ARTIFACT FAN FICTION // CRIT
Under the fluorescent vapor of the ER, as I filled out a clipboard, I started to feel, for once, like I had a purpose – to be comparable, to be benchmarked. I blinked, and everything changed, like I had taken too much modafinil, but really I was waking up to the twin ataraxic suns coming through the window, and everything in the dead ages, 200 years or 2 minutes ago, was a flatline in my collapsed eardrum.