Chloroplasma
Chloroplasma.  IT IS FUN!
part of a dragonfly.

No, there’s nothing I don’t have that other people have. I’m not imperfect. I’m more than perfect. I’m better than human. But isn’t that—- better than human, that means I’m not human—- I’m not human, I’m not like everyone else—- I knew that. I always knew that. There’s nothing wrong with that. I am glad not to be human. Humans, what are they? Stupid worms crawling in their own filth and trying to love each other and beating their brains out so much they start believing they do. And I don’t have that. They have something I don’t. That’s... no, that’s not right thinking. I’m... not deficient. Deficient? What a hateful word. I don’t make mistakes. And I’m not incomplete. All of them, they’re imperfect—- I have the knowledge that love is all an illusion and I can see the truth and I am stronger than the world. So they have a void, and I have that void filled. That’s what it is. Why can’t it all blend together? Why is everything so different from everything else? I want it all to be... the same. No... I don’t want everyone to be like me. And I don’t want to be like... I don’t... want to be like them… no, I don’t want to be like them...    damn that boy. Caleb. My son. He is my son, isn’t he? Oh, God. He’s my son. I don’t know or care about his father, whichever it is, but either way, he’s... oh God oh God. I have a son. I feel... no. I shouldn’t have let there be another me. What am I thinking? It doesn’t matter. Soon enough it’s not going to matter to me anymore. It won’t affect me, really. Why would I feel guilty? Guilty? No, I don’t feel guilty! I don’t have any regrets. I’ve never regretted anything. I’m not capable of feeling guilt. Oh my god! Not capable? God, no, no! I’m… not capable? Something is missing. Oh my god! I don’t want to be like this… I don’t want to be like this anymore... please make it all just... be the same… please? Why do I say please? I’m not talking to anyone. I’m not praying. Even when I was a little girl I never prayed. And that’s why it feels strange, seeing Aron at church. But I don’t know why I am going to see him. He’s of no use to me. But every week... and I can’t even talk to him… I’m afraid he’ll… afraid? No, I’m not afraid! I just don’t want him to know what I am... I don’t want him to, that’s not the same as being afraid he will. It’s almost like I... like I love him. But I know I don’t. Because I can’t. Can’t. I hate that word.


curly thing.
one's hair on trees and one's hair on people.
IMAGE MAP OF YOUR DOOM.