Image: Max Nitrofoska
Excerpt 1:
They connected us on day ten, right after the routine checkup. I walked into the room without asking questions. I followed instructions. I had been told about the coupling, the emotional safety protocols, the filtering of impulses. But no one explains what it feels like when the helmet closes and, suddenly, you are not alone inside your head.
The first kiss was not a kiss. It was a faint invasion, like an old, poorly recorded song. I saw images of his—or so I think—: a woman from behind on a pier, a burning building, a dog with a broken ear. Disconnected things. Then came my memories, distorted, returned as if they were his. I felt dizzy.
He looked up and smiled, almost as if he too knew that it was a necessary error. We said nothing. We couldn’t. And in that silence, I knew I would keep connecting.
©Nitrofoska
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