Sabbath

[Geno]

...

The scent of cleaning detergent molests my nostrils.

There it is. A little bubble forms, and swells and drifts and flows upward.

It floats up the gel, metastasizing through the thin, blue substance like a glass marble.

This distraction does little to sway my thoughts.

Or to change what's in front of me.

Tears well up in my eyes.