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 someones desk.