The Miserable Merchandise
Winston’s living room had begun to swirl.
Sitting in his chair, book in hand, Winston watched the grey room come apart at the seams and begin to spin; his eyes were malfunctioning again, bugging out and rotating inside their sockets. A moment later, Winston felt the nausea of vertigo, his lunch attempting an undignified escape. Clenching his hands around the book, Winston squished his eyes firmly shut, and ground his teeth through the glitch, hoping it would soon pass.
