by d.f.Monk
--
James had Nothing growing out of his head.
It had been there since he arrived home from work: A dark swirl empty black with a handful of thick strands swaying gently in a non-existent breeze.
He'd thought about going to the urgent-care down the street, but when he tried to take a selfie of it, there was nothing there. Nothing lowercase, that is, not the actual Nothing he saw in the mirror.
When he tried to touch it, there was just a vague coldness, and the wet, dirty smell of an empty hole.
He settled into his chair for the latest whatever on the something streaming service (didn't he know those names at one point?)
The door slammed open, and through it hurried a disheveled woman in a long coat, the lower half of her face covered in a thick striped scarf.
"Pardon me, but you have a dimensional aperture attempting to manifest in or above your head."
"Do I?" James asked.
"You do," she said, pulling her hands free from her pockets. In a flash she'd threaded a needle in one hand from a spool in the other. "I can close it, but I'll need your expressed verbal consent."
"Sure I guess," James replied. "You have my permission... but I..."
"Don't worry about a thing," she said, drawing closer, smelling of cloves and smoke. "In fact you probably won't even remem..."
James stared at the front door. He'd just come home from work, but didn't remember leaving it open.
James had Nothing growing out of his head.
It had been there since he arrived home from work: A dark swirl empty black with a handful of thick strands swaying gently in a non-existent breeze.
He'd thought about going to the urgent-care down the street, but when he tried to take a selfie of it, there was nothing there. Nothing lowercase, that is, not the actual Nothing he saw in the mirror.
When he tried to touch it, there was just a vague coldness, and the wet, dirty smell of an empty hole.
He settled into his chair for the latest whatever on the something streaming service (didn't he know those names at one point?)
The door slammed open, and through it hurried a disheveled woman in a long coat, the lower half of her face covered in a thick striped scarf.
"Pardon me, but you have a dimensional aperture attempting to manifest in or above your head."
"Do I?" James asked.
"You do," she said, pulling her hands free from her pockets. In a flash she'd threaded a needle in one hand from a spool in the other. "I can close it, but I'll need your expressed verbal consent."
"Sure I guess," James replied. "You have my permission... but I..."
"Don't worry about a thing," she said, drawing closer, smelling of cloves and smoke. "In fact you probably won't even remem..."
James stared at the front door. He'd just come home from work, but didn't remember leaving it open.
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