Veins pulse quicksilver in the endless silence, fill life with quivering liquid chrome. It is in the night that I feel the music most strongly, feel the bass-beat crescendo rising through the nothingness like a cresting wave, forcing itself from radio to audio. Sometimes, in my dreams, the sound is so loud that I cry out, scream myself awake, and then I am there, here, alive, now. Sweat beads on shivering skin, stirs cold molten, metal and alive. What am I? I ask, but there is nothing, no one. Only silence. Only silence.

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