The phoney.
Reacting to stimuli, muscles and thoughts become tense. The face assumes expressions barely perceptible by its own skin. In this round of life-affirming identities, you are passed on in a closed circle like the baton in a relay, and drag yourself towards the destination of another day lived.
Whether you remained steadfast or yielded, whether you were put upon or made an enemy, whether you were in time or too late, will be totted up by your weary brain before it turns out the light of reason in the brainpan. But something makes you aware of the existence in your mortal coil of two opinions, as if someone yet unborn, like a twin, is asking to come into the world and will painfully squeeze your heart or kick you in the stomach, taking your breath away. It arises as a spirit or e
