Received at midnight.
The package stood at my door.
No sender. No sound when it was placed.
Only a silent pressure at the nape of my neck,
as if someone had watched me until I found it.
The plastic shimmered in the dim light,
each bubble a captured breath.
Beneath it: skin. Contours.
A body—human, almost sleeping, almost awake.
I should never have opened it.
My fingers trembled—not from cold,
but from a knowing—
that this was not a delivery, but a curse.
A suspended state between Here and There.
“Fragile,” the label read.
I stroked the word like a wound.
There was warmth beneath the plastic.
A pulse.
Not loud, but present.
Not dead, but not quite alive.
I brought it inside.
It still stands in the hallway.
Sometimes I hear it breathing
when the house is completely still.
And sometimes…
…I see my reflection in the plastic—
but it doesn’t blink at the same time.
