Assimilation

It's over. This is my gift to you.

Plotting his course with the aid of a broken finger. He kept going back to the beginning. Hundreds of trips to nowhere.

Wrapping the packages with bows left over from gifts not given. The cataracts of sex impairing my vision. I'm blind at last. Nothing to see except what I can remember of before the disease was a factor.

She's Star Trek. Captain Picard. The Enterprise. Lost in a rift in the space/time continuum. She's talking to herself from the past. From the future. The disparity of timelines spinning her like some lonesome dreidel. She's data. Unable to feel and yet aware of all emotion present. She's the dominion. Everyone is an alien. She's a changling. Neither person nor object. Searching for what to be next.