stage six: possession
DEVON
Today’s the big day, ladies! YOGAMAMA announced from her livecast. The Great Reawakening is finally here! Who’s ready to testify? Y’all with me?
Devon Fairchild was so ready. She had reached peak immunological radiance. She had scraped out the toxins until her intestines sparkled within. Now it was time to reawaken.
To testify.
She felt the energy resonate deep within her bones, humming with a delirious electricity. She’d worked so hard for this: prepping her body, maintaining her frame of mind.
And waiting. God, the wait had been endless…
No longer. YOGAMAMA had given her the green light for her own enlightenment. Time to WAKE UP, gals! It’s a new dawn! A new day! Time to OPEN YOUR EYES once and for all!
This video testimonial was the final step in Devon becoming THE WAKE-UP CALL. Not only did she need to testify, she needed to offer something of herself up to the sirens.
A sacrifice.
You need to leave your flesh behind, YOGAMAMA instructed. Give us your body and enter the warm digital stream of selfies. Give yourself over to the virtual tide and simply…drift.
All Devon ever wanted was to belong to this echelon of wellness women. They were her friends. Her mentors. She had learned so much from them, painstakingly studying their video testimonials until she could recite every last maxim, knowing each and every video by heart.
Now it was time.
She could feel herself breaking away from her body. This fleshy frame was only holding her down, weighing her to this world. All she wanted was to dig her fingers into her chest and crack her rib cage open, let the butterfly of her soul breathe freely and emerge triumphant.
Something great awaits you, YOGAMAMA promised. Something…miraculous. Feel it?
Yes, Devon felt it.
The kitchen was all hers. It was difficult to tell what time of day it was. The shades were pulled but Devon didn’t feel like peeking. It could’ve been night. Or morning. It didn’t matter.
Outside the world was burning. She could nearly feel herself choking on the smoke.
I am ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille, she thought with a giddy, dizzy grin.
She didn’t have a ring light for perfectly balanced luminosity. Her phone’s flashlight would have to do. She would’ve preferred something a little softer on her features, but beggars can’t be choosers. She set up her cell on the counter, propping it against her Vitamix. She flipped the camera to selfie mode, framing the angle perfectly, and took herself in.
Look at her. Just look…The sirens of Instagram may have all been natural beauties, but Devon recognized she needed a bit more upkeep.
Just a little foundation to conceal the gray sagging bags of skin under the eyes…
A little blush on her hollow, flayed cheeks…
There, that’s better. Good as new. Better than new. Devon was…reborn. No!
Reawakened.
She could barely contain her excitement, mounting with every sandpaper rasp that dragged across her throat. She could hardly keep her eyes open, on the cusp of passing out from the anticipation. The nervousness of it all. What would she become? Who would she be?
What would she see now that her eyes were open?
Devon tugged out her tablet and rested it on the countertop so its screen faced the ceiling. She swiped, unlocking it. The screen awakened, casting a cool blue glow over her face that made her gums look gray. She’d recently lost a lower incisor, but that was okay.
Two screens.
Two portals.
Devon composed herself. She cleared her throat. Deep breath. Her finger wormed its way toward her iPhone’s screen, pressed record, aaaaand…
Showtime.
“Hey, y’all…It’s me, NOMAMADRAMA, coming to you live…” Devon coughed up something wet. Spat it out. Whatever it was, the thick globule hit the kitchen floor with a splkk!
Devon started over again. “Hey y’all. It’s NOMAMADRAMA. I’m coming to you live and in the flesh today, on this very special day…The Great Reawakening! Are y’all as excited as I am?”
There was a tickle at the back of her throat. That’s okay. A little huskiness was sexy. Like Kathleen Turner. Remember her? Devon didn’t mind a cigarettes-and-whiskey tinge to her voice.
“I just wanted to thank you all for following me these last few weeks. Your support has been such a blessing. I couldn’t have gone on this journey without all of you cheering me on.”
Devon glanced down at her open tablet. The dull glow flickered, its dim—
gaslights the
glorious
glorious
gas
—light fading, distracting Devon for a moment, almost as if the Wi-Fi had momentarily disconnected. But just as quickly as she’d lost her train of thought, the glow on her tablet brightened, back up to its full power, and Devon snapped back.
“I want to give a special shout-out to YogaMama. You’ve been my bright, shining star…I couldn’t have woken up without you. You helped me…open my eyes once and for all…”
Devon stared down at her tablet.
Her holy healing tablet.
Devon couldn’t help but think of Moses for a moment, just a brief fleeting thought of him and his stone tablets, the Ten Commandments, inscribed by the very finger of God.
Or something like that.
It had been so long since she’d seen the Charlton Heston movie. How did it go again? She barely remembered. Didn’t Moses smash those tablets? Something about a golden calf?
Before she could second-guess herself, Devon quickly reared back her hand and—
CRNCH
—brought her fist down, punching her tablet’s screen so hard it crackled.
aaaah
Devon hissed through her teeth, feeling the dull crumble of glass under her knuckles. A fine dusting of aluminum silicate now covered her skin, digging its little teeth in.
ow ow ow
The tablet’s screen was made of tougher material than Moses’s stone. It wasn’t like a window or plate glass. This was a thinner substance, the shards clinging together even after Devon repeatedly brought her fist down and down and down, over and over again.
“It’s time to—”
crnch
“—wake up.”
crnch
“Time to—”
crnch
“—open our—”
crnch
“—eyes.”
It took five strikes for the glow to finally futz out. Now all that was left was a spider’s web of fractures and cracks spun across the screen.
Devon’s knuckles were lanced with cuts. She could feel minuscule flecks of glass powdering the back of her hand, embedded into her fingers, like a light dusting of sugar.
“Are y’all ready…out there? Ready for…the Great Reawakening? I know I…sure am…”
Something caught Devon’s attention.
There. On the counter.
An oily shimmer.
A thin pearlescent trail of dried slime extended across the countertop. She ran her finger over it. The tackiness stung, like static electricity. The trail began at her tablet’s cracked screen.
What…is that? She leaned over the counter, following the trail, until she spotted it.
A slug.
Or at least something that moved like one. So slimy. So…shiny. Pink and purple and green. Oil-spill hues rippled and spiraled across its glimmering skin. This determined worm inched its way down the other end of the counter, patiently working its way toward the floor.
Where did you come from, little fella?
Devon quickly pinched it between her fingers. The slug squirmed against her skin. It was cold. Slippery. It flexed backward, bringing its writhing lips across her cuticles.
Now there was a trail of slime across Devon’s fingernail. It shimmered. A tiny screen on her index finger. It looked like she’d given herself a new manicure, lacquering her nails in a swirling polish of oil.
Devon brought the slug up to her nose. She took a whiff, then popped it into her mouth.
It crunched.
Aaah…Devon wasn’t expecting that. It wasn’t soft and squishy at all, but brittle. Like glass. The shards dug into her gums and sliced at the inside of her cheek’s lining.
But she couldn’t stop now.
Look at those pesky li’l buggers go! Come back! Devon had to catch them before they got away. She picked up another wriggling shard and tossed it into her mouth like popcorn.
Crnch crnch crnch.
Then another.
Crnch crnch.
Swallowing the glass was tough, but at least the blood gave her something to help wash it down. With each strained gulp, the shards slicing at the lining of her throat, she took a moment to regain her composure, spit out some of the blood pooling in her mouth…and smile.
Smile for the camera.
“I want to thank…hyooorch…all my…followers…for—”
Something came back up.
A slender tendril of pink glass and drool trickled down her chin and hit the countertop.
But Devon didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop now.
“Thanks for…sticking…hyuulp…with me. We’re…all in…this…together.”
Devon had never felt better. Never felt healthier, happier in all her life. She felt well. Her well of wellness was absolutely brimming, overflowing with healthiness. Happiness. Joy.
“You can find your—hyulch—inner goddess, too…You just have to…to let her free.”
Her throat was in tatters. Her teeth spilled out from her mouth and tumbled across the counter. But she kept smiling for the camera.
She needed something to drink. Something fresh to wash this all down.
Her Vitamix.
Of course.
Devon dragged her splendid blender across the counter, making sure it was in frame. She tossed the container’s lid away, then the flipped the switch and cranked it all the way up to purée.
The blades instantly sang their high-pitched whine, blurrily whirring to life.
vrrrrrrrrmmmm
Devon couldn’t help but feel a bit mesmerized by the ring of stainless-steel teeth spinning just inches away, round and round and round they go, where they stop…
Devon plunged her fist into the blender.
VRRRRRRRRRRRRM!
The pitch of the blades immediately shifted into a higher octave as Devon pressed her knuckles farther in. The flesh sprayed away first, sending a red mist up the sides of the container.
Since there was no lid, Devon got a bit of an eyeful of her own warm soup. When the blades reached bone, the tone lowered even further, grinding against her metacarpals.
SSSSSKRRRRRRRRKKKKRRRRRKRRRRRRRRM!
By the time Devon pulled her hand out, well, there wasn’t much of a hand left. Everything above her wrist flipped and flopped in a spongy, stringy tangle. Flecks of flesh draped over Vitamixed shards of bone. Fresh blood pumped freely from the pulpy suet.
But look how fresh that smoothie was!
Devon drank right out of the container, bringing it up to her lips and tilting her head back, guzzling the warm purée as if it were salty gazpacho. She’d never tasted anything like it.
“This is my testament.” Devon belched, wiping the blood from her lips with her bare arm. “I am ready…to wake up. I’m ready to…to open my…eyes.”
She took another swig, tilting her neck back until the fluid spilled down her cheeks.
“I am the Wake-Up Call! I am the messenger sent to—”
Devon cut herself off, her attention now drawn toward the refrigerator.
Someone was standing behind the open door.
Hiding.
At least she thought it was someone. It was too dark to see. The bulb inside the fridge cast a lens flare of warmth, a faint spotlight. Devon had to shield her eyes, bringing her hand up and holding back the light, the gaslight, the blinding burning light…
Blackened fingers gripped the door.
Whoever—whatever—they were, now leaned to one side, peering out. They were wrapped in shadows—no, they were the shadows—skin burnt to a crisp.
YOGAMAMA. It was Larissa. Her cindered flesh. Eyes shimmering like fish scales. The first thought to pop into Devon’s head was—
demon
—but just as quickly as she thought it, the word itself was gone. Washed downstream.
Are you ready to awaken, gurl?
“Goddess, yes…”
Well, then, all you need to do is—
CLICK HERE
ASHER
“How’s Marcus feeling?” The tone of the woman’s voice held too much sunshine. Far too buoyant for Asher’s ears at this hour. He focused all of his attention on the oversized button pinned to her shawl-collared cardigan’s lapel. It was a picture of a cat precariously dangling from a shelf.
Hang in there!
When Asher didn’t reply straightaway, the woman behind the desk said, “We called Mrs. Fairchild a few times, just to check in, once we realized he’d been absent for a few days.”
“He’s, uh…he’s been sick.”
This seemed to sate the woman. She leaned back in her rolly chair, nodding. “There’s definitely something going around. Nearly half the kids are out. Never seen anything like it.”
Asher just stood there, in the main office. The walls were covered with artwork. Children’s drawings. Collages. Squiggly pictures that seemed to wriggle in the corner of his eye.
He glanced at his watch. What time did Tammany say? The Great Reawakening was kick-starting any minute now, and that meant Asher needed to act fast. Open people’s eyes.
He was the Wake-Up Call, after all.
“Any big Christmas plans?”
Asher snapped back. “Sorry?”
“Christmas. Got any plans with the fam?”
Did Asher even know it was Christmas?
“A cruise,” he said.
“Ooooh, I’m jealous. Where to?”
“Bahamas.” He coughed. Something was stuck in his throat. He coughed again, dislodging whatever phlegmy tumor was lodged in his chest. Now he had to swallow it down.
“Was there something you needed help with today?” the woman asked, still polite as ever, but Asher could sense her chipperness was chipping around the edges. Her smile wavered just a bit. “Did you want to pick up some of Marcus’s schoolbooks?”
Asher nodded, coughing again. He was so parched. So dry.
“Let me see if I can get his teacher to come down. If you don’t mind just waiting here…”
No. No, he couldn’t wait here. The teachers were hiding.
Hiding them.
Asher was certain of it. He just had to find out where. Which room. He hadn’t come with a particular plan other than to walk in and find them, expose them to the rest of the world.
Prove none of this is real.
He needed to reach the classrooms—the special ones—where they kept the crisis actors. They were probably practicing a new scene even now.
That’s probably why this beam of bubbling sunshine with the double-fucking-chin wouldn’t let him go any farther. She didn’t want him to see what was hiding in the classrooms.
Asher had to go. Now. Catch these lizards in the act before it was too late.
The woman was on the phone, calling up Marcus’s teacher. More like warning her, Tammany whispered into his ear. Better hurry, big man…They’re probably on to you by now.
Asher glanced over his shoulder, hoping not to look too suspicious. The main office was walled off with windows, an aquarium for the administrative staff. Asher had a vantage point of the school’s central thoroughfare, a straight shot that stretched on for several classrooms.
Clock’s ticking, big man…Now’s your chance.
Asher bolted for the door.
“Mr. Fairchild?” the woman behind the main desk called out, but Asher was already out of the office by then, racing down the hall. “Mr. Fairchild—wait!”
No turning back now. He had to hurry.
Which room?
The classrooms all looked the same. Where the fuck did they keep them? The crisis students? The test tube kids? These lizard children had to be here somewhere. Hiding.
They looked like normal kids—but they weren’t. They weren’t real children at all. You just had to look closely enough. Adjust the motion smoothing. Then you’d know the difference.
Then you’d see.
If Asher could just prove to the people at home, prove to Paul Tammany’s audience, that it was all an act, just for show, then he’d prove himself to Paul. Show him that he was worthy.
This was it. His moment. The Wake-Up Call. He had a message to deliver today.
But where? Where in the hell were they hiding?
Which room which room which—
Asher stumbled into a classroom.
The students—third graders, maybe?—were sitting in a circle where their teacher read to them from a book about transsexuals. All heads turned toward him with wide-open eyes.
Nope, not these kids. They were real. “Sorry,” Asher mumbled, ducking out into the hall.
Time. He didn’t have enough time. They’d be after him soon.
Which room which room which room…
His heart pounded.
Which room which room which…
Skull throbbed.
…room which room which room?
Asher spotted a collage Scotch-taped to the door of another classroom. Bits and pieces of photos clipped from glossy magazines had been reassembled into new images. He saw body parts. Plump lips. Oversized eyes that didn’t match. These weren’t people. They were pixelated.
Here. This must be them.
Asher burst through the door, out of breath. The room looked like any other room—
that’s what they want you to believe
—complete with student-drawn artwork. There was a bunny in a cage in the far corner. Someone had scribbled its name on a sheet of construction paper: PROFESSOR HOWDY.
The students. The students were all at their tiny desks. So young. First graders, maybe?
Marcus’s age.
Twenty children total, from the quick head count Asher did. They all turned, staring back at him with bovine eyes. Empty of expression. They were all hollow. But just under their skin…
Below their cheeks…
Another face hid. Blurry features in sore need of some motion smoothing.
Bingo. Found them.
Look. Just look at them all…These weren’t children. They just looked like them. Anyone could see that these—these things were mere approximations of people, of children, made to look like our kids. But they weren’t. They had no parents. No family. They weren’t even human.
“Can I help you?” The teacher—a young woman with cropped hair, a lesbian maybe, in her late twenties—stood up from her desk, quickly making her way toward Asher.
“It,” Asher started, struggling to catch his breath, “it’s not—not real—”
“Is there something that I can—”
Asher struck her.
Hard.
Several students screamed as their teacher hit the floor. A shriek of chairs scraping over linoleum filled the room. Kids leapt out of their seats, clustering in the far corner as Ash stomped his heel down on her head, feeling her skull eventually split like a melon. A special effect.
Look. Just look at their exaggerated terror. These students had been trained for this. Rehearsed for this very moment.
See? Tammany was right. Had always been right. All a part of the show, folks…
Asher locked the door.
“It’s not real,” he said as he stepped toward the cluster of cowering children. He wasn’t looking where he was going, accidentally knocking into a tiny desk and sending it toppling over.
“None of this is real. Here,” Asher said as he closed in. “I’ll show you.”
The bunny was pacing its cage, unable to escape.
“It’s okay,” Asher said. “It’s okay, I am the Wake-Up Call. I’m supposed to show you.”
He hadn’t brought anything to help. What tool could he use to expose their lies? Peel their masks back and show the world what was hiding underneath? There were so many school supplies lying around. Would a pencil work? A stapler?
Ash spotted a pair of scissors resting on the teacher’s desk.
There. That’ll do the trick.
A funny thought popped into his head: How is Tammany going to talk about me?
There would be cameras. The local news was probably on their way already. The coverage would feed their reporting to the national affiliates, and from there the cable networks would pick it up. Get in on this while the getting was good. CNN. MSNBC. FAX.
They would squeeze this story dry, down to the last drop of blood.
Asher’s blood.
He knew how CNN would report on it. He could nearly hear the tsk-tsking coming from Anderson Cooper’s mouth before they’d even scripted it.
But what about Paul? What about his people? His core demo? Would the Tammany Army see Ash as an ally? An emissary of their truth? Would they bow their heads and take a moment of silence on the air to honor one of their own fallen comrades?
This was for them. Asher was doing this for their sake. Wouldn’t they see that?
They would tell his story the right way. The dignified way.
Everyone’s eyes would be opened. Time for everyone to wake up.
The Great Reawakening was finally upon them.
“Just the fax,” he said, stepping forward and doing what had to be done.
CALEB
Caleb stood in front of his English class. He didn’t look so well, to be honest. Both nostrils were crusted in rusty scabs. He was wearing his cross-country team’s sweatsuit, stained and stiff, hood pulled over his head, sweatpants swallowing the contours of his withered body. The bags under his eyes testified to several sleepless nights. His hair was greasy, auburn tentacles reaching out from beneath his hood.
He hadn’t showed up to school in days. Weeks, now. His GPA was at risk of deep-sixing itself completely. At this rate, he’d be forced to repeat the eleventh grade.
Well, look who decided to show up, he could imagine everyone thinking. When was the last time he showered? He didn’t know himself. The funk lifting off his body seemed to suggest it had been days. Jeez, weeks. What is up with him? Is he actually sick? On drugs?
Twenty students sat at their desks, their attention drifting in all directions. Some slumped deeper into their seats. Some doodled along the margins of their notebooks.
He hadn’t commanded their complete attention.
Yet.
“I—” Caleb cleared his throat. Tried to, at least. It was a wet hack at the back of his esophagus, congested with something phlegmy. “I have something to say.”
A few students glanced up, then dropped their eyes, back in their own personal worlds.
Worlds that didn’t involve Caleb.
“Caleb?” his teacher, Mrs. Meader, asked. “You okay, hon? Do you need to go to the nurse’s office?”
After another moment of uneasy silence, this standoff between Caleb and his class, his chapped lips finally split and he spoke. “Today I’d like to talk about…talk about…”
What was he supposed to talk about?
Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar. His report had been due a week ago, but Mrs. Meader was willing to let it slide, as long as Caleb finished the oral portion before the end of the semester.
“I want…” Caleb’s nose began to bleed again. He didn’t wipe the blood away, letting it trickle down his lips this time, over his chin. “I want to talk…”
Eyes dropped. Some rolled. Nobody was paying attention. His voice barely carried to the front row, let alone the back. He was a nonentity. A mealy-mouthed absence.
Until he smashed his head against the whiteboard.
Caleb simply turned from his class, facing the vast expanse of white behind him and—
Thwonk!
—slammed his face straight against its flat surface.
That certainly seized everyone’s attention.
One girl gasped. Samantha Havemeyer sat in the front row and watched it happen. Benjamin Pendleton, far in the back, caught it too, more by mistake, but still. He couldn’t help but guffaw, stupefied by it all. Nobody moved, though, suddenly frozen within their seats.
So Caleb did it again.
Thwonk!
“Caleb!” Mrs. Meader stepped forward, then halted the second Caleb turned around.
A purple welt had already begun to blossom along his forehead. Both nostrils were bleeding, two red rivers converging into a thickened rivulet of blood that ran into his mouth.
“I have a message.” When Caleb smiled, his teeth were red. “You’re not gonna like it.”
Benjamin Pendleton was the first to pull out his cell phone. He held it up and recorded Caleb. Another student pulled out their camera as well, recording. It was such a knee-jerk reaction, Caleb thought with contempt—capturing the moment on camera. Rather than stand up from their seats and help, see if he was all right, they videotaped him. Livestreamed it. The lens put enough distance between Caleb and themselves that they could pretend this moment wasn’t happening to them, too. As if they weren’t even there. It was more pressing to share this slice of life than to participate in it. The moment needed to be spread rather than resolved.
Good. Caleb had everyone’s undivided attention now. He waited until there were at least five cameras recording him. He peeled back his hoodie, flesh ripping free along with it.
“Today’s the Great Reawakening,” he said with a sudden sense of self-assuredness, his voice sturdier. Deeper, even. It dropped to an octave that didn’t sound natural. It couldn’t have come from a boy’s throat. It sounded like someone else. A ventriloquist. “Time to wake up.”
Caleb Fairchild was the Wake-Up Call.
“Time to open your—”
One moment, he was standing before his class, arms held out. The next, he was…gone.
Evaporated.
Poof.
Pink mist. Uploaded to the cloud. From his classmates’ perspective, the videos they livestreamed, it simply looked as if Caleb’s body had disintegrated in a bloody eruption.
The homemade explosive he had been wearing underneath his hoodie detonated in a red flash. He had strapped the device around his chest. It took an entire roll of duct tape to secure the bomb in place, his baggy sweats softening any remaining awkward angles or bulges.
The cinder-block walls contained the blast itself, but the sound of the explosion reverberated through the hallways. Neighboring classrooms could even feel the vibrations of it.
The blast wave sent the contents of the classroom toppling back. The overpressure thrust Mrs. Meader against the far wall, slamming her skull and rendering her unconscious.
The physiological composition of his classmates was completely disrupted by the explosion. There was the rupturing of organs. Hemorrhaging. Think of soft-boiled eggs. The yolk rent asunder by a sudden jolt, now oozing out from the tender intestinal casing.
Caleb’s body parts dispersed in the blast wind. He was now shrapnel. His own bone fragments embedded themselves inside his classmates. Those sitting in the front row suffered the brunt of the explosion, shards of bone digging through their soft tissue. Their faces.
His blood basted the walls, but his message was sent. Caleb made a meme of himself, and with the help of his classmates, he was able to reach a wider audience.
There was the immediate blast radius, the damage done within the classroom, but what about the secondary blast? The tertiary? Quaternary?
Caleb’s internet challenge would soon be everywhere. How long before other kids picked up where he left off?
What Caleb understood, thanks to the teachings of ELZEGAN911, is this: there is the immediate pain you can inflict, the immediate impact you can have, but there is an even greater impact that goes well beyond the reach of one person, one body, one moment in time. There is the world at large, the global stage, the spread, the sprawl. Those are the real targets. The true aim. To reach them, you need to leave your body behind.
If you really want to wake people up, you need to go viral.
To spread into a million glimmering fragments.
FAMILY NIGHT
It’s Wednesday night.
Family night.
WAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYESWAKEUPOPENYOUREYESWAKEUPOPEN YOUREYES…