[prose] placeless

[Ten]

It's not a story, but it's not a poem or art, either.
So I hereby dub this thread placeless prose.

Funny how these things happen, like you're not supposed to be here. You don't react. Not at first. No, no screams, nor tears, nor emotional outbursts. It wouldn't do any good; you don't have the time for it. A strange, steady stare arrives on the doorstep of your eyes and takes a seat, waiting there with patience, waiting for you to react. And, in a way, you do. You take it in. You deal with it.

At a place like this, they wouldn't have expected such calm from you.
You wouldn't have yourself.

Yet, when dealt a blow like this, it becomes too much to feel, and all with more logic, reason, and equanimity than you would have thought possible, you keep going, because you were never supposed to be here in the first place.