C.M. Rivers

Eavesdropping on your observations with transcendental accuracy, the gleam of something half-buried catches your eye.

You investigate it as if it were a valuable relic, bring more of it into the light where you can see it, turn it over with a delicate hand.

Working carefully, you begin to chisel fragments of it away with your lead, your ink, your blinking cursor, until its true shape is revealed.