Empty

Her eyes are blue.

Not ocean, not turquoise, not sky, rather ultraviolet.

Electric.

A wash of neon signs reflected in finite, red, green, blue detail.

She looks up at me, hollow eyes insensitive to every wavelength, save the perfectly curated artificial light. In the darkness, the hand projector angled towards her face produces flickering shadows that convulse across her skin.

They change, and change, and change, so fast that by the time one shape is perceived, it has morphed into another, the previous form long forgotten.

She looks past me, through me. I am not there.

"It has a hold of me."

Bright lights dazzle.

"It has hold of the whole world."

Silence...

"How will we ever break free..."