I awake from a dream about petty theft and shallow graves. Who digs a burial plot next to disturbed earth? It's creepy and inconvenient.
I blink away sleep and stagger to consciousness. I reconcile reality by reaching out to grasp a large plastic dial. Black and threaded.
Why is this here? What did this mean?
I know to turn it is to wrench a piece of myself along with it. Cranking the circular knob feels the same as popping bubble wrap; deceptively difficult but oddly satisfying.
Every click of partial rotations is a bone broken within me. Another stage of letting go achieved. It's an internal (Jig)Saw trap.
Soon the dial will be wrenched all the way over. Widdershins, of course. I'll have been murdered all the way dead to save my life. Twisted into a new setting entirely.
11:48 p.m. - 2014-09-02
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