Fever, fever, sweat, and more sweat. The whole world has turned into a huge, glowing metal plate. Everything is pulsating, encompassing me, leaving me cast adrift amidst a flow of unceasing lava. The horror of the world washes over me in shards and leaves me prostrate amidst a pool of ash, messy limbs, children's screams, and sweat. There is nothing worthy of the sickly attention of a painfully feverish mind. Everything coexists in red simultaneity. Nothing is permanent here except sweat and lava. Images and sorrows dance, bombs go off, the world can’t catch its breath and doesn’t want to.
