Gugulethu Msomi

The Library That Ate Time

Birthdays. The annual forced march towards the grave, punctuated by awkward greetings and questionable cake choices. Mine, however, come with a unique little flavor: a yearly seventeen-minute vacation from consciousness. My brain's way of saying, "Nope, not dealing with another year of this." While the normies get balloons and heartfelt (read: generic) cards, I get a temporary flirtation with the void and the persistent suspicion that my existence is some cosmic sitcom I didn't audition for.