EGGY walked outside. It was night and there were many holes in the ground. The rabbits had been working all day and now that the days were longer and hotter they worked even harder.
I am a figment of my mother’s imagination, she said. When she closes her eyes at night, that’s the end of me. It is unimaginable to think that I could be out here, alone, looking at the moon, being in its light, feeling the cold, touching the ground. I am her dream right now. My body is not my own, I am a blister that fell off the bottom her left foot, I remember. But I also don’t remember. Is it possbile that I remember? My eyes are not my own. My voice is not my own. In a way, it is offensive that I would use the word I.
Eggy circled a young tree, one hand on the trunk. She spoke out loud: I’m scared at the thought, I’m scared at her thoughts because I am her thought and I’m only one of her thoughts. If she turns over in her sleep, I will stop existing. I’m waiting for that to happen right now. The moon will go out, the tree will collapse, my sight will fade away, my feet will tear away, my hands will tear away. Last of all, my voice will stop coming out of my mouth. There will be no mouth, no working parts at all. I’m so scared when she goes to sleep because I know my end is coming. She will call out, I’ll feel a moment of pain and then I’ll disintegrate. It’s a cheat that I’m still here.