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Unexpected Error

In the nights, shift and sigh, eyes crusted shut with sleep-want, mind sleepless.

Hand crawls out of the bed, fumbles to the cupboard where I hide my phone from myself. Sleek, smooth metal. Scarred screen.

Switch it on, blinded. Like the saints are when they first look upon god. I feel like a saint now, after depriving myself of this. I saint my body by hating it. No notifications.

Refresh. Pull down the screen with my thumb, tug, as if I could uncover some hidden secret if I pulled hard enough. Cackling desperation, first quiet, then screaming. Tug, tug, tug.

Screen gives away, torn down, and a white box floods my phone, and then there’s another white box, and another, there are thousands of them, each overlapping the last, again and again and again until it feels like the boxes will flood out of my screen, out of my phone, onto me, this unvirtual, unreal self.

Strange terror as I read, within each box, the same message- Unexpected error. The request timed out.

(Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out. Unexpected error. The request timed out.)

unexpected error- gently, tenderly, I press the green button in the box that says ‘OK’. The last box disappears, uncovers the one before it. A million more to go. ‘OK’. ‘OK’. ‘OK’.

Not sure exactly what I’m agreeing to.

Only know that it’s a pacifying word, meant to be said with limp limbs, soft eyes. Lower case only.

ok, ok, ok.

I could have been saying this all my life.

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Photo by Kolar.io on Unsplash

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