The monitor flickered, headset summoning clamouring sirens into his existence. A ballet of banality ensued, each reaction scripted, monitored.

Then a hiatus, sandwiches wrapped in cellophane and instant coffee.

He once dreamed of being a writer.

Now he lurked in isolation, constructing reassuring mantras.

Dreaming of sandwiches wrapped in cellophane.

Image Ronin wrote this story.