When your body doesn’t work

“This is how I die, isn’t it?”

Fortunately, it was not. That would come later. I pushed myself to my feet, feeling my hands melt through the floor. I retracted them, trying to mould them back into the correct shape. The task would have been difficult enough, even without the shape of one to affect the other.

Time to fix the problem I had created. The problem with this was making it anywhere without falling apart. Every step forward was like walking through molasses, if the molasses was my legs rather than the world around me.

I reached for the counter, trying to think fast. I could still work, of course. Even as my body failed me, I could always work.

I failed, but I didn’t die. It wasn’t very helpful.

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