They’re the shadows that you see out of the corner of your eye, the shadows you ignore, the shadows you call “floaters” when you hit middle age. It’s true they float, as they haven’t a corporeal body to anchor them. They float. They glide. They whoosh overhead when you look down. They slink close and tickle the hairs on the back of your neck. Many people learn to become blind to them, just as we become blind to seeing our nose so that it’s not a constant distraction. After all, they can’t hurt us.
“I don’t know how I fell down the stairs. It seemed to just happen. I would blame the cat, but I don’t have a cat.”
“I swear I heard a buzzing in the car. You know I’m allergic to bees. I told the officer I’m allergic to bees.”
“Her last words were, ‘Oh my god, a spider just crawled down the back of my shirt.'”