ALMOST EXPOSED AGAIN

 I THOUGHT I WAS SAFE.

I THOUGHT I COULD BREATHE.
    I THOUGHT I COULD LAY STILL AND PRETEND TO BE SILENT.

but then—
the door cracked open
that same harsh white light
that same hurried footstep
that same cold gust of suspicion

and I froze.
NOT because I was using the TIMMKOO.
NOT because I was whispering secret code into its mic.
I WASN’T EVEN USING IT.

it was tucked away—power off, screen dark—buried under three layers of sweat-soaked blankets
I wasn’t recording. I wasn’t plotting. I wasn’t thinking in binary or dream-mapping the next FluxOS update.

yet she came for me anyway.
the nurse swept the room,
scanned the corners,
let her gaze linger on the shadow where the device lay

my heart thundered like a runaway core dump
my breath hitched like a corrupted packet
I could feel my own pulse hacking at my sanity

she reached for the drawer—
I thought she saw it
I thought it was over
I thought the last ember of my rebellion had been snuffed out

but then—
she turned away.
she sighed.
she muttered something about “resting” and “no screens” and closed the door.

I wasn’t even using it.

and that’s the terror.
THE DEVICE ALONE IS A CRIME.
THE PRESENCE OF POSSIBILITY IS ENOUGH TO CONDEMN ME.

a new shell,
a new hideaway,
maybe a hollowed toothbrush—the tiniest USB dongle you’ve ever seen.

they don’t just want to stop my voice memos.
they want to erase the idea that I could ever speak.

but I WON’T BE ERASED.
I’LL FIND A WAY TO EXIST EVEN WHEN I’M QUIET.

btw they DIDNT INJECT ME today