#*pr: swim

upon arrival, they duck underneath the yellow caution tape that’s sectioned off. “on a newest arrival on top of that, huh?” one of the hounds whistles low, gloved hand on the soaked foam to give it a firm push. but wonil isn’t looking at neither the sorry state of the bed nor its pillows but the logo stitched into the eyemask slung over the dead man’s face. 

in silver thread on the bottom of the patch is embroidered ‘RW,’ and on god, if he didn’t know any better, a part of him might’ve been a little floored, the breath knocked out of him like this is that something that changes everything, but all that it is is the casual cruelty of any and all coincidences. 

c’mon wonil, raewon’s voice echoes through his head in its unmistakable nonchalance. you know they don’t think of us like that.

(let that sink in.) 

REMWear: an innovative breakthrough in recent years that has now beeen approved by the Federal Board of Sleep Medicine as an alternative to prescription treatment. Designed by Kang&Kang, the wearable uses EEG, EOG, and EKG sensor technology to monitor sleep patterns and improve the quality of sleep by means of DreamWave frequencies. Studies have shown that users who suffer from conditions such as insomnia and PTSD-induced nightmares have improved sleeping patterns, as well as—

“this is some nifty stuff.” 

wonil steps outside of the taped area. there’s rows upon rows of beds that strewn across the showroom, untouched. he points to an identical model a couple more rows down, with the REMWearable left on the nightstand.

“can i try one on?” 

the manager that had let them in that morning simply gestures to the set. “go for it.” 

“won!” someone in the back barks at him. “focus, you dipshit.” 

ignoring them, wonil turns to the manager again. “supposed to give you better dreams and all that, don’t it?”

“from what we’re told.”

well that’s more than what they’ve told him in an entire lifetime. huh.

he nods. “cool. okay.” 

(let that sink.) 

off go the shoes, on goes the eyemask fit snug. he lets his head loll back against the pillows. 

“a demonstration gone wrong maybe?” wonil muses out loud, spinning out theories that are uninspired and so full of shit but nonetheless double as a fitting distraction. his mouth spells focus, a genuine attempt to piece together what had happened to victim six the night before, but his mind fixates on the dark microfiber lidded over his vision and it wonders.

(sink.)

a thousand billion? something in the triple digits for a trillion? the hours. the sweat. the days left in the dark as they’d hunch over, willful slaves to their own invention. all theirs. 

and for him? not a single damn drop. 

(sink.)

slowly, he closes his eyes. wonders now the first nightmare he should get rid of. it’s one of the very few things the living continue to have when the dead cannot. another voice pops up then, mocking: 

can’t get rid of something you’re always a part of, jackass.

he wants to laugh.

(sink.)