From the perspective of Orin in a hotel
It was like dust in light. Trivial. Absence dressed in sound—white ants marching across the screen, their tiny legs crackling.
A hollow gurgle seeped through the taps, dragging itself through the hotel walls.
The water and the static braided together in my head.
White noise.
It silenced everything—even the hanging woman.
But it was all trivial.
I looked down.
A plate of cold eggs sat half-eaten. I don't remember ordering them.
But I was hungry.
By now I'd lost track of time—dates, days, seconds...
It all just dragged on.
It was trivial.