I was ready to get jumped for my Jump Man. Those shoes were the only thing that helped me escape the parabola of poverty I carried with me throughout the house when we had no heat in the winter. I kept my Jordan’s strapped tight until my ankles were black and blue from the double knot in the laces. The Reason You’re Wrong About Wearing Shoes in the House | Mathew Serback ![]() Your control will give you the last visual memories you will ever have. The last time you write by hand, it will be in a blue notebook, pen posed between fingers, scribbling invisible words across the page. Blonde hair, tanned skin, long limbs will drift off into a haze, your outline softening at the edges, pale and opaque. The last time you see yourself, you will stand in front of the hall mirror, so close, your breath fogs it. The last time you see color, your hand will graze along racks of clothes hanging in your closet, colors arranged by shade. Head turned eyes straining, each letter will appear and slide in-and-out of view, like a fish swimming in-and-out of focus. The last time you read a print book, it will be some romance novel a well-intentioned gift from your parents. Dust moats will swirl in the Sunbeams and catch on silver threads in your lilac comforter. The last time you see sunlight, you will be in bed, staring out the window. Your control will find you on your knees, carpet scratching, tears rolling down as the world whittles down to four senses. ![]() Facial features become a soft haze in your cloudy vision. most of it remaining a foggy memory.Įventually, your eyesight will grow dim, the pictures before you faded, no longer crisp and clear. You will spend almost two months in the hospital. You will wake to warm towels shrouding your face, machines beeping and blipping, family lining the room, and neon light piercing your eyes. ![]() You’re sure they are fascinated, jealous of your control.Īs chunks of hair fall from your scalp, and your face sinks in, and your body begins to eat its own muscle, leaving dangling flesh, you will be self-righteous with your control.Īt twenty-two, your control will drop you, sending you into a coma, shutting down your body. You will walk into rooms, jeans barely staying above the hips, concave contours of chest and stomach prominent through tops. Your slender frame will mutate, bones jutting out beneath loose material.Ĭontrol will be important to you. Mutation of a Body | Bridgit Kuenning-PollpeterĬontrol taken too far will batter your body.
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