Cesium 137 spreads through the Pacific. A fugue of luminous mist is drawn up from the ocean. It cycles, then returns. How lucky we are that the east is separate from the west. I continue with my preparations to learn to function without breathing. Many objects now lack substance. A slight resistance – only – now keeps me from passing through them. The sphere sent to reorient my vision is no bigger than the top joint of a thumb. When it flickers, I blow out.
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