chunks of what i’d eaten through the evening rushed up and into my mouth. i felt the skin parts of an apple stick against the backs of my teeth. i coughed and let it all out into the sink, desperately pawed at the knobs for the rinse of water. the vertigo hit and i fell back.
i grabbed the faucet with both hands, but the room flipped and i stumbled, floated. the faucet stretched, pulled from its anchor, changed colors and transformed into something entirely different. it was a long gun, a carbine rifle, and it caught the piercing glare of midday sun.
i blinked twice, shut my eyes hard, struggled to dig my heels into the linoleum. i tried to count against the terror, but when i opened my eyes, the medicine cabinet mirror splintered and then ruptured, vomiting sand into the bathroom through a void tied to a distant memory.
