It is the sleep that transpires after death... no, I must be dreaming.

But I don't remember what it feels like to dream, so I can't tell the difference anymore. I am forever sinking. Past spiderwebs of memory, lost in a beautiful darkness. I am lulling deeper into the silence, deeper into peace. I am everything and nothing.

But I am so aware.

Can it be right to know you are dead and sinking? Can it be right to be afraid? I hear the calling of my name in the distance. I still remember my name. This can't be right. Something is not right. Where is he?!

My name is...
                                      E u r y d i c e....



kindly hosted by

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other hypertext projects:

ephemeris @
enigma @
patchwork girl by Shelley Jackson
briar rose by Robert Coover