Head in a Jar

The liquid rushes up my nose, up, up, and all I can think is I cannot breathe, even though I know I have not been able to breathe since…

My eyes flick open; then are stung by the yellow viscous liquid.  I shut them again.  Through the sharp pain stabbing through my eyes and the throbbing, pulsing ache at my neck…

I can feel the glass of the jar press against my ears.  It must be a large jar.  It must be very large indeed, if my entire head can fit within it…

A sudden movement causes my eyes to snap wide again, and this time, despite the wave of agony washed in by that hated liquid, I keep them open.  I am being lifted, or rather, my head is.  I can see my body, lying on the surgical table where they…

The room they carry me into is cool and dark.  I am placed on a desk next to other jars.  I cannot tell what is in them; I do not think I want to know.  I hear voices; they ring and course back, the waves rebounding against the glass of the jar next to my ears.  I cannot make out much of what they are saying, just:  A fine one to add to your collection, eh?  So that is why I am here, I suppose.  I am become a decoration, another oddity in a jar on someone’s desk.