Zhara

“This could have gone on for years. Me having my brain torn apart by sensations, thoughts and feelings of somatic torment at the hands of an Other Body in its mirror. Family and friends wanting to help — I assumed that was so, at least — but failing in the specifics. This glass between us making the seen, unseen, the seeing, unseeing. Making the outspoken voiceless and the listening deaf. Making the caring confused and the cared for distraught. Like an exile trapped in a labyrinth of glass panes splitting me off from my society and my tribe, no matter which direction I turned, no matter which impossible hallway I travelled down I was always separated from reflections of some other world where people could be happy, and safe, and understand their own inner workings well enough to voice them in the form of words.”
― Michael F Simpson, Hypnagogia

“I looked around again, quickly left, quickly right. There was someone around me. Something. In the shop windows, faint and ghostly faces gazing out. Directly at me no matter which side of the empty space I looked upon. Once again the darkness and the impossible distance obstructed my ability to discern any detailed features, leaving me alone with only vague ideas of the inhuman human form.”
― Michael F Simpson, Hypnagogia

“Bats eating moths, or bats eating bats, it was all the same — beauty devoured beauty.”
― Michael F Simpson, Hypnagogia

“The mirror looked at me, and hated what it saw.”
― Michael F Simpson, Hypnagogia