'There's machinery moving in my mind'

NO WHERE NEAR FINISHED, ON GOING, DRAFTS, EDITS, FIRST ATTEMPT AT A STORY.

Impetuous white light spat over the concrete, it's filtered streams focused intently on bleaching the pallid air, it wound my organs into ligatures. Bright light is nauseating.

Not even concrete beneath me is enough to skewer the dreamlike state my mind is in, not even solid ground can gravitate me back to earth. Eyes left unexposed to the outside world for months at a time struggle against the elements, tears collected at the ducts and clung to my eye lashes, reluctance. Winters wrath sending my skin into shivers and stimulating migraines.

Perhaps spending so much time staring intently into screens.