December 19th, Year of Silence

There is no suffering worth holding close, worth the fevers it produces. It is always better to wash oneself clean. With humility, in the river, a longed-for rebirth.
I have mentioned, I cannot swim.

I am filled with courage, now. My hands no longer ache to be held. Wait a minute, and it will all change. I have mercury coursing through my veins, not blood. I am made of iron, not flesh.

I was so young, the last time I truly felt the warmth of the sun on my skin. There was a platypus, I remember. It was doing what a platypus will do, while I ate a bologna sandwich, and wiped my mouth with the sleeve of a sweater that I had outgrown.

That alien thing let me watch it, and I knew it was my kind. We were dropped off on this planet, as part of some cruel experiment.

So, I ask, where is a platypus when you need one?

December 19th, Year of Silence

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