Se7en

Door opens somewhere in the building

and my whole body files a report.

Someone laughs too suddenly —

I've already found the exits.

Nothing is happening. Nothing.

I'm sweating through an afternoon of nothing.

And the part of me that's watching

learned its job when I was small —

IT'S STILL RUNNING! IT'S STILL RUNNING!

THE ALARM OUTLIVED THE FIRE!

NOBODY'S COMING THROUGH THAT DOOR TONIGHT

AND MY HANDS DON'T BELIEVE IT!

Nobody's coming.

Tell my hands.

It kept me safe. I won't insult it.

It read the room before I could,

it heard the change in someone's footsteps

and got me out before the storm.

Good work. Genuinely. Good work.

The war's been over for years.

So how do you unlearn a flinch

that was once the smartest thing about me —

IT'S STILL RUNNING! IT'S STILL RUNNING!

ON INFORMATION THAT EXPIRED!

I AM BRACED AGAINST A WORLD

THAT STOPPED SWINGING A DECADE BACK!

Stand down. Please.

Stand down.

And for eight bars I felt the floor.

Just floor. Just level ground.

So it exists. It exists.

I've been told, and now I've felt it —

IT'S STILL RUNNING —

BUT NOW I KNOW WHAT QUIET FEELS LIKE!

I'VE GOT EIGHT BARS OF EVIDENCE

AND I'M BUILDING FROM THEM!

Stand down. Slowly.

We'll do it slowly.