Orb

It's white. Given that everything in this sterile room is blanched of color, that should come as no surprise. What is, however, incredible is its reflection on the walls, or maybe in my head, although these ties on my wrists will prevent me from ever observing enough to understand. Its surroundings are bathed in blue and yellow; supreme pleasure with excruciatingly pure pain. As it floats, it pulses. Occasionally, it gets close to me and its potential for destruction is palpable through the air. Today I can feel it, helpless, as it carves imaginary initials into my skin. Tomorrow it will float away, an orb of beauty flitting on the edge of my consciousness. And somehow, in these lapses of memory in my weakened state, I will forget what it is, and who it has caused pain. Tomorrow, I will pine for it from this helpless corner. It will come. I will feel again, and half-willingly assume one more initialed scar. What I should do tomorrow, really, is run.