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He felt himself emptying onto the paper--black ink against a faint yellow of faux parchment (all the rage in some places)--every emotion being recorded o.l.d. fashioned. O being the obligation the man felt to everyone, l being the loneliness his current state of mind had brought on, d being for the intense desire to change like a caterpillar. With every a, e, i, o, and u (sometimes with y) the man felt his bones break one by one--one rib, then a tibia, a humerus (which was not one bit comical to the man), a clavicle and a femur (possibly an ulna) crack. With every noun the man felt the tissue of his lungs crackle and being to die, with every verb his heart slow down in pace, every adjective his vibrance began to fade--every article, pronoun, preposition, adverb and conjunction tore at his flesh. Every cliche left him one step closer to brain damage. Brain? This word was foreign to him. Had he forgotten? Questions clouded his memory one by one and images played across his half-blind eyes. Half-blind. Contraction. Half being only part a whole and only part of the contraction he tried to force from his mind--blind being how he had been for so long: blind to the fact that he was falling apart sinew by sinew. Words danced in his head like whirling dirvishes until they burst forth like cancerous cells escaping into a bloodstream. Did it make sense? No. Yes. Maybe. What did those mean? Oh if only he could find those cells the made up his brain--O! Cells like a monk's room. Wasn't that the cause of the word? He didn't know anymore. Everything he knew was failing and the world would soon read him like his books--open but cryptic in the same instant. The man disolved like many before--memory being nothing but alpha-beta on pages soon long forgotten.