The Static Speak My Name

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RICKY WAS TAKEN

A distinct ping sings into your ears, and the presumption of its eventuality is overshadowed by the dire need of it. You look down to your rectangle, and feel the vibrations of a sense of urgency that exists only in imagined spaces of binary. Your mind created worlds between the infinite series of digits, and your heart latched onto them in a manner that only the derangement of longing can make it do so. You seek to create an illusion, if only to solidify another. Like a compulsive gambler, yet again in need of his ‘estranged’ brother.

You stare unblinking, watching the words rush by, their manner quite like that of binaural beats. A third, imagined beat to the ear that completes the rumble. Without it, it’s merely a thump and bumble. And you don’t want that. Of course you don’t. So you choose to perceive the bridge of fantasy…

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