This was bad. She knew. She'd follow up, and I had no idea what I was going to say. Because I had no idea what was happening to me, or if I was even going to be okay; I was seeing things, and this thing coming out of my eye couldn't be grabbed; it was like it wasn't really there. Except, I could feel it, and was getting a headache between its irritating buzzing and the hyper-real visual information it was giving, like everything was oversaturated ink—
<p style="font-family: Copperplate; color: red; font-weight: bold, italic; font-size: 20px;"><<Not to alarm you, Me, but Dad's coming; he heard you shut the door.>></p>