A novella by Christina Bergling

The Drip



From The Waning:

Drip, drip, drip.

The sound of those perpetual droplets echoes through the darkness.

Drip, drip, drip.

In the black sensory deprivation, my mind becomes bat-like, constructing the tiny world around me from the way the sound moves.

Drip, drip, drip.

My brain is on macro, hovering beside the trembling and bulging drop of water until it plummets, shape rippling, to the concrete below. Then the water explodes over the floor, and my consciousness levitates back to the next. Each splat ripples through the otherwise silent air, causing the shapes to materialize. My eyes still feel as if they are seeing as my mind assembles the images before them out of habit. My retinas are only transmitting black; my other senses simply complete the gaps.”

Artwork by the talented Phillip Beachler, the Graphics Smith.


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