"It's a kind of LED tree hybrid joke and you could just kiss it for trying for failing." -Heather Christle, from The Seaside!

Impossible

My friends all went to get the hit new surgery today. I sit down in my living room, and picked up the novel that I hadn’t been able to sit to in months. I can’t focus on it, though. It’s been so long, and I’m nervous to see them, these dear friends of mine, to hear how things went. I’m not even sure what type of surgery they’re actually getting, other than it’s all the rage, apparently. My front door swings open, and a figure, brightly lit from behind, walks in. Another follows, and then another. The light seems to be following each of them, somehow, so that I can’t quite make them out, other than their shape. Hey, Brent one of the figures says, sounding remarkably like Parker, one of my friends. I suddenly feel a strange sort of fear. Parker I say. What do you think he says. Yeah, what do you think another of the figures says, this one sounding like Betty. The fear grows in me, as the figures draw nearer, spreading themselves out, as if to surround me. What is this I say. How do you like what we’ve done the third figure says. This one sounds like Jack. They are all around me now, the light hurting my eyes, like looking directly into an eclipse. What have you done I say, shrinking into my chair. Silhoueplasty they all say in unison. We are only silhouettes, now, and nothing more. I look from one to the other to the other, slowly blinding myself. It hurts they all say.