Melting

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The world was spinning - no. It was melting. It took a moment for him to realize it wasn't the world that was melting. It was himself. He was melting onto the stone floor and his color was red. Wrong again - he would have laughed at himself...if he knew how. He wasn't just red. The color that was spreading itself onto the floor was not one color, it was red...yes, but also pink and gray and green. Bits of blue too, if you looked hard enough. Some part of him knew he shouldn't be melting, for a moment he wondered if that part was insane, then he grabbed it, and yanked himself back to awareness.







"AAARRGGHH"
All at once he was aware of more than the melting, more than the floor. He was aware of himself and of those around him. Of the high ceilings with emotionless white paint. Of the tall walls and their gory memories. He was aware of pain too. But that wasn't important. Then he did something beyond snatching his mind back, he snatched himself back, pulled the parts that melted away from him back, the reds and the grays and the pinks, even the subtler blacks and blues. Back into himself...back into what once had a name...what was that...? Ahh. Zachariah.

"Will...make it?"
"Can't be sure...real mess...shame"
"Wait...it's pulling...no..."
"What? In the name of...how?"
"Don't know...watch it...Tell her..."
"Yes, sir."





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