Cracks in the Ceiling

         There are cracks in the ceiling. I think I’m the only one who sees them. I stare up, day after day, imagining the sky. At first, the ceiling was smooth, sturdy, and whole. But gradually, night after night, the paint flecked off and the plaster split. The flecks fell, disappearing into the depths of oblivion before they reached my upturned face. Slowly, the cracks got bigger until I could see a sliver of the world outside. Even now I’m looking at the stars in my slice of the night sky, a slice that gets bigger and bigger. Even now, it’s filling my vision with bright pinpricks of light. The cracks are large enough to fit my hand through.
         There are cracks in the ceiling. I think I’m the only one who sees them. I think I’m the only one here.