A woman enters the room, holding a pepper and begins to eat. The act exists somewhere between consuming and being consumed. A pair of eyes invite me in. Juice comes as a drip, a dribble, a stream; consecrating chin, shirt, skirt, floor, space.
It is impossibly red.
Language comes similarly. A drip/dribble/stream/scream. Her voice, ours, mine.
Rules morph and stakes change. I feel betrayed, first by a string of lights, then by a swatch of green, before remembering that in the beginning there were seeds and a stem.