i. tiny things are making homes inside of your home. you:
a. trample them underfoot. they are invaders, no matter how small, and this place is yours. you made it, fed it, sang it to sleep. they will not profit uninvited from your labor.
b. return them to where they came from, carefully. their homelands are more suited to house them than you are. you fear that allowing them to stay will one day be the death of them.
c. burn the whole place down so that no one can have it. questions of ownership are a loaded gun that you would rather bury than see fired. you will all find residence elsewhere.
ii. does your soul sleep?
a. it tosses and turns, restless. there are better uses of its time. it must remain watchful, anyway, to guard you against those that would steal you away from it.
b. without sleep, your soul could not dream. without dreams, you could not live. its only responsibility is to keep you whole and happy.
c. where would it lay its head? the world is an unkind place for wanderers like your soul. there are nails strewn across every bed-shaped surface.
iii. choose.
a. they simply do not listen. you watch them try again and again. each time they fail, you are there with advice and words of encouragement. they take neither to heart. every time they plug their ears, you want to scream. you cannot scream. you cannot weep. you can only watch the cycle repeat, sisyphean.
b. there is always someone waiting for you. you see them on the horizon. they wave hello in the mornings, and at night, they sleep in the glow of an open fire. the road is paved and flat but still, you do not reach them. you persist day and night but still, you do not reach them. they are always waiting. you cannot run fast enough to catch up.
c. they are watching you. you do not understand why. their eyes are like a million needles, piercing the heart of you. you are glad, in a backwards sort of way, that others finally see you the way you do. you do not know what will happen when they stop looking.
iv. you see a shark in the waters where you are swimming. you:
a. stand your ground you know where to strike if it gets too close. you are well-versed in finding soft spots. if life was as merciless as you, we would have all been torn to pieces in infancy.
b. flee, kicking and screaming. you do not care to find out if it is hungry; you refuse to make a meal of yourself. for days afterward, you will imagine the press of teeth against your skin. for years afterward, you will not approach the ocean. it is still there, waiting, starving.
c. approach it. lay your head in its jaws. hope that when it bites down, the end will be
painless. know that such a hope is futile—endings never come without drawing blood.
v. at the end of the world, where will you make your grave?
a. wherever you are forced to stop fighting.
b. somewhere quiet, with flowers in its smile.
c. does it matter when the whole thing is dancing on the cusp of becoming a tomb?
vi. see results?
a. yes.
b. yes.
c. yes.
! you must select a response.
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