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The Day Where Nothing Changed
The molecules in Kim's nose came far too close for comfort to the molecules in Kim's toes that fateful midnight as the molecules in Kim's brain, producing the appropriate chemical reactions to conclude that Kim would never fall asleep, decided to do Kim's morning exercises several hours early.
The collection of molecules and reactions and energy that was Kim grunted as her head touched her ankle - she hadn't done this sort of thing in awhile, not since she was a diagnosed insomniac. But she still found herself quite as nimble as she had once been - only a little stuff around the joints.
"One . . . two . . . three . . ." her mouth muttered, and her eyes widened and then snapped shut as they reacted to the pain. The muscles and marrow in Kim's stomach and calves screamed, begging her to stop. At five she did, stretching out on the floor, her body obeying the brain's commands to sleep.
The smell of eggs and the Saturday light streaming into the bedroom activated Kim's cells, and her bones made the slightest of inaudible creaks as they raised her into a sitting position. Electrical pulses sent visions of eggs and toast and a beautiful day across Kim's eyes.
Those same pulses carried her downstairs, where the eggs recharged her and made the molecules in her nose and toes and brain sigh with pleasure. They carried her through the morning, where she ran as fast as she could for a moment and then let her legs carry her for the next two miles. They kept her fluid when her hand made the pen fly across dozens of math problems.
They prevented her head from exploding when she yelled at, apologized to, and yelled at again the collection of molecules and reactions and energy that was Kim's boyfriend.
Lunchtime was purely mechanical, purely ordinary. Kim's brain took a rest as it fantasized about a collection of molecules that was not Kim's boyfriend, letting the rest of Kim work on its own. Its precision was unchanged - only a glaze across Kim's eyes gave evidence to the absence of her essence.
The pulses carried her through afternoon, when she separated herself from the boyfriend. She allowed the molecules that laugh and those that cry to war unchecked with each other, and her hands to reduce certain photographs to mere molecules themselves. Her vocal chords rang with the strength of a steam train as she yelled alternately at herself and the collection of molecules that was her mother.
Her brain wrote "bad day" on itself again and again, each time allowing Kim to become more distressed. But just as it was about to give up, Kim's ears received the waves of a ringing phone.
After Kim's mouth worked its wonders, Kim had a new, different boyfriend.
At midnight, her nose once again met her nose, but this time to work off happy energy. Then, once again, her brain commanded her body to rest.
Energy molecules rushed to her brain to induce a good dream, failing to notice the lone cancer cell as they hurried by.