if you knew what this was about you'd never take me seriously again
I had a dream last night. I was in a pool with my friends (but they aren't my friends. who are these people?) I look at the back of my hand and something is wrong. A small blemish, it bothers me. As I touch it my skin shifts with it. Curious, I pull. A thin layer of skin peels off like a piece of tape, revealing a deep, wide gash just below my knuckles. I see chunks of what should have been there still sticking to the discarded skin. I feel nothing. Panic spreads. "That looks bad," they say. I feel nothing. "You should go to a hospital." I obey. I feel nothing.
The doctor holds my hand. "This will hurt," he says, as he moves to pour hydrogen peroxide into the wound. I remember, idly, an article I read about how hydrogen peroxide doesn't actually do much to clean wounds, but I do not object. For a moment I still feel nothing. Then, after a brief delay, the sharp peroxide sting surges through me, and I wake up.
I got a letter in the mail today. I knew it was coming, but didn't know when. I peel open the envelope; the paper rips and frays at the edges. I see what's inside. For a moment I feel nothing.