Black Holes

Tiles in doctor's office ceilings break away to form black holes. I can feel my breath being sucked into them, the life is being sucked out of my lungs into the death of nothingness and spinning white dots thrown up with my lunch. The tiles look like dirty craters on the moon and I think I will go moon-jumping. I would much rather be crater-diving than sit here while I wait for life support. I am a tiny moon-woman and I watch and laugh at the poor people who are not as lucky as me. I watch them sit numbly staring blankly at the walls and the painting of the lady looking out to sea, trying to find herself in the endlessness of the ocean and I know that that is what they are wishing for, they are wishing for some form of eternity and life that does not involve this office, this medicine. They are bound to the white dots and they sit seemingly emotionless, skin itching with embarrassment. They do not see me, the little girl on the upside-down moon who is running from the black holes that are forming to suck their souls away. The little girl will yell and scream to warn them of impending doom and nothing will happen, her voice is a tiny insect buzzing and they are alone in their chairs, little islands in the papiermache sea that surrounds their hearts. She jumps in anti-gravity and laughs at her abilities and they shift in their chairs, looking nowhere but ahead or reading months-old magazines, pretending to be absorbed. She thinks thank god I escaped to this lunar landing, thank god I am able to dance on sprinklers and hang upside down, seeing the world through new eyes. She climbs in the craters and it is a whole new world of black and grey and white and it is perfect, no shades of color to distract her, just her fleeing from black holes and watching the people feigning sanity below.