John Walker's Electronic House

In Her Eyes – Final

by on Mar.30, 2006, under The Rest

She has been alive for one week, but still three weeks early for the world. She is too small, too unfinished, encased within her plastic box. The air is filled with electric bleeps and the hiss of refined oxygen. Her shrivelled skin is not yet ideal, her hands too small, her eyes unopened. She has no consciousness of her situation, inside her plastic box.

There is the unheard sobbing, endless desperate cries. There is a weakness to the sound, the tone of exhaustion, those dry cracked noises. Unheard by ears too small to understand, and those too far away.


She is standing astride the wretched divide of life and death. She rules it.

She is at the apex of living, the peak, the most alive any human has ever been, and will ever be. To be more alive than this would mean to cease being human, to explode beyond. But she was to be the highest human of all, to reign in this place. To ascend. She would become ordinary among the immortals. But she was also to be human, more human and more extraordinary than any around her.

She is also alive in flame.

She is also about to win. She is about to defeat her final enemy.

The WUMP… WUMP… WUMP… is now alone in daring to challenge her.


It is a significant day. It is a significant moment in a significant day. It is a moment that is life defining, life changing.

It is smaller than so many memories but far more momentous. It is more crucial, but small enough to miss.

This moment shines.


Broken pieces, fragments of ideas. The sub-atomic particles of thought. Stretching narratives. Stolen glimpses. So it goes.

All her life the WUMP… WUMP… WUMP… had ruled her. Had controlled her. Had forced her mind, directed her, bullied her, mocked her, held its tyrannical authority over her, laughed at her weakness and belittled her existence. Spiteful, hateful noise. Cruel noise. Dominant. Her whole life had been a puppet’s dance to its rhythm. It will end. It will not win. It cannot be allowed to win. No more.


She is encased in the box, her cries can’t be heard. Her body is too fragile.


Now: Victory.



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