I want to crush these pages into dust.

There is a mother with her child on her lap.

His head is connected to millions of cold zapping wires.

I come alive.

I feel the surging sting through my brain,

As I had felt once before.

It is cold. It is dark.

I want to rip these wires from my head.

I feel them dig into my skull.

My mother holds my arms down. Helpless.

Now the present, I sit on my mother’s lap.

The room is dark, and I am naked.

I feel the cold wires in my brain, in my eyes.

I look to my mother.

She is not there.