Leonard sits wedged behind a half table, palms up, watching grainy video of children splashing in a kiddy pool.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As they slap small waves his hands begin to tremble, his chin lowers, sunken in shame.

 

The PPG blinks, triggering the screen to switch back to normative stimuli: a hummingbird ascending in slow motion, whittling its path through the rain with a delicate fury of wingbeats. Leonard, moved by this, curves his cap to conceal his face.

 

No matter how small the creature, what a burden to carry this terrible weight we’ve been given.

 

Through a pane Rhea jots down the results. Like a tornado torn in half forced to unveil its frightening symmetry: eerie it is how much like stillness the slow spin of some catastrophes.