- the behemoth's stunted eye glints in malice, a capricious will revealed. its unsettling rattle breaks the silence only occasionally, only as i resurface from the depths of my own imagination. the idle sounds of quelling fantasies supply me with oxygen and, with time, the weight of the water's insistent pressures fades into a familiar sensation; i stay beneath the surface, sedated and soothed. wrought in fantasy, i am exposed to the behemoth's intents, a goat in a panther's playpen.
how long before i wake up and exist in my own body?