You turn to see the dark that speaks. Time disappeared, songs evaporated and the kitchen wear that meant much to you was all hidden in preparation for your weekly visit from the psychologist. If he knew this dark that speaks only to you he would forget all that he learned in college to become a doctor of psychology and remember all that he forgot to make space for new knowledge. He would leave you alone and stop prescribing medication after medication to try and stop your obsession with pots, pans, and various other items that you argued "did not only belong in the kitchen!".

The dark spoke. The words turned your heart into fractions. The fractions turned your body into pages. You became a book. You wanted to speak, but then you remembered that books can't talk so you remained quiet. You could almost read the title on the cover when you remembered that books have no eyes so you can not see the title. You also can not know the title for books have no central consciences.

Suddenly you are shook. You hear your peers laughing at you as you look up at your teacher. "You were sleeping" she says. "Was I snoring?" you reply. You already know the answer. Why can't you slip into and out of these vision filled comas without loud snoring? You think about faking a ceasure, but you decide to just sit through class. The good news is it can't get any worse than this. The average human can't suddenly disappear from existence. You hope as your status among your peers becomes more and more below average that you will be able to do what was formally impossible to accomplish.