Tea Partying
Making sense through a sort of immediate retrospect, voices confounding, minds pulsing voltages, reverberations emitting from the mouths of chair-squirming equilibrium seekers, her heart beating triple measure. The couple in the corner look like lumps of congealed lard, shockingly still pumping warm blood, springs beneath groaning protest at each belabored breath. Faces with folds cholesterol yellow, and creeping horror as her spinal cord jolts sidelong across the room. Some blackness emits from their mouths, tongues twisting syllables, nonsensical, lyrical sympathies, almost tangible, like smoke settling on skin, hearth soot smoldering and dread.