When she stopped planning for tomorrow (outfit, lunch, schedule) and cleaning the dishes and spinning in circles, when she paused to close her eyes, to catch her breath and focus inward the way certain spiritual practices advise, all of her attention went to a tiny area of density in the middle of her head. Although she had never had a tactile relationship with her brain (or any other brain), it was like she could feel this one part of hers.
This tiny spot threatened to pull the rest of her in like a black hole would do. She wondered if she stayed in the meditative state long enough, would it actually would pull her in or if it would even stop there. Would it also compel the dog, the cats, the couch to its darkness? Was the neighborhood safe when you came right to it?
The width of a hair, the length of a hangnail, the depth of a belly button, it was the tiniest of tumors tucked neatly at the apex of two lobes. It was a magnificent force, despite its slight stature. A ball bearing released from a tall building that drops through an unsuspecting skull like a coin tossed into a fountain, a wish, a secret, a ripple to which no one pays any mind.