I had to bind myself together. I could feel pieces of me falling away, an arm, my left toe, my sense of grace under pressure. My lips struggled to speak as my tongue became unattached, my teeth loosened in my gums. My heart threatened to beat itself right out of my body, and I feared that it actually would.

The curse of unbeing is a cruel one indeed. I thought this as I wound the linen around my eyes, working to keep them in my skull. I wondered what I could have done to anger someone of such great power. What had I done to deserve this?

The world through my thin but tight linen mask was hazy and crosshatched. Everything I saw seemed to be losing its shape as well, the edges of the dresser bled into the television, oozed into the picture frame above it. I wondered if there was any way to save myself, wondered if it was even possible, or if at this point it was worth it.

What would happen to me? Would my skin become translucent, and my kidney slip out? I had lost my nails, there was no recovering them, and my hair went soon as well. My hands felt loose on my wrist, and even tied tightly on I could feel myself losing feeling in them. It became ever harder to move my fingers, to grasp things, to hold pieces of the world as I became less.

I wondered what would happen to me once I was gone. Once I had unbecome, physically. Would any psychic piece of me remain, or would all of me drift, like dust above the world, becoming other things.