Sickness envelopes her as she sips from a glass with no bottom.
She is drowning in it. She kicks and flails to keep her head above the waves, yet the depths call to her. They ask her what it might feel like to let go.

He is a sailor on a ship in a dark sea full of whispers. He cannot stop, cannot slow down. He puts his hands over his ears, but it is no use. The wind sighs and wonders, will it ever end?

She is running. The forest floor scrapes her bare feet. She is wheezing, sweating, staggering, lost. She stumbles, falls. The bruises on her body are bathed in moonlight. The one who chases her moves ever closer and says, this is all you’ll ever be.

He stands in front of a mirror in a crowded room. His head is split open down the middle. He is dizzy, shaky. He reaches into his skull and pulls out a fistful of yarn, rainbow colored. He opens his hand and it falls to the floor. He looks up, people are staring. Someone laughs and says, it took you this long to notice?

She floats in a porcelain tub filled to the brim with boiling water. Her eyes are empty as she scrubs at her skin, sloughing it off in sheets. The noise echoes off the walls while the steam rises, clouds the room, and hisses: you’ll never be clean again.