Fish-eyed angels, mov. 2: "Breath"

I sat down on the wooden chair. It creaked under the weight of my body. I wondered how long it would hold. I looked at my hands. In the pale light of the full moon, it didn’t even look like blood. I didn’t even care at this point. They’d be here any second.

The attic was always completely empty, but I’d never noticed it was so large. A single rectangle of white light, my barrel-shaped shadow in the middle of it all. I noticed black stains on the floor.

I grabbed my head. The pain got unbearable. I smelled something metallic.

What is wrong with me?

For a second I saw stars in front of my eyes. They gradually huddled closer together, forming colorful nebulas and galaxies, sprawling snails, fishes, eyes, skulls. Some stars came closer. They were human-shaped, blindingly radiant – beautiful.  Comforting in all their distance and complete lack of interest in me. Their watchful eyes turned elsewhere. Their fish eyes. Their deft legs, their ballet moves. It was all a scene. Nothing was real. Nothing of it was real. It was all a nightmare. I knew I’d soon wake up and dad would take me to the fair again. I’d have cotton candy again, just like yesterday when Jeremy and I fought over that robot. What was its name again…?

Red and blue lights flashed on the walls of the attic. I could hear my breath, deep, calm. Nothing could change anything anymore. Why should it matter? It was too late anyway.