It is a bright morning when the call comes. Everything becomes brighter: like a vision of a nuclear blast in a film. It is as if everything solid has broken into pieces. As if the world has cracked. It is a shivering, an unshakeable sickness. It feels like concrete in the stomach. Shattered and stark as ice on deep water, strike with a blade. Like being held under, lungs filling. Sorrow deep enough to drown in. And this is a failed attempted to say: it feels like being locked in a dark room screaming, Alone and falling. The repetitive rhythm is not a glitch, it is an artefact of pain repeating. It feels like being constantly watched. It is an assault: it is a wailing. It is being forced into a nightmare without being allowed to sleep. It is everywhere, as if all the masks hae dropped. It is living in the real and it is the remembered real. This is shattering. A 'textbook version' of trauma as an extreme cliche. The silence after an echo of a stone, pounding. Like losing a mind while breath and smiling. Like a hand around the throat. Forced deeper into the wreck of it. A rage. Like raging. -An Event Happens And