Stepping over the pieces of glass strew across the floor, I encounter Sir Filament. He is blackened and blown out, thin antennae dangling at his sides. In an instant I can imagine his last moments, the heat cumulating slowly inside of him to unnatural levels until containment was no longer an option. A spontaneous combustion of sorts then occurs, throwing him into a beautiful bouquet of spark and ash along with his exoskeleton, which is what I am now treading slowy around in hopscotch style stepping to avoid laceration. Even in death, he can cause pain and loss.
As so can ghosts, which will be my next installation, since it seems I need a break from web designing for a spell or two due to an undeniable urge to spend more time holding hands with introspection.
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