quadrāgintā   septem

"What in the fleshened name of change is happening to me!?"

He wasn't so sure what to call that. He didn't know what name he was supposed to ascribe to it. He didn't want to boss around of course.

There was nothing to boss over. He didn't even know if that was the right feeling he was nursing. He didn't know what the right feeling was.

He didn't know what he had been made to feel and what he was supposed to feel exactly. He didn't know what was right.

He couldn't identify with it. He couldn't put up with the rage. He couldn't make meaning of it. He didn't know what had just happened to him.

He didn't know what to think. He didn't even know if thinking was the best thing for him to do.

He didn't know how he was supposed to figure out what would be and what would not. He was more of a specimen.

He tried to reshuffle and bring back into life what had happened quite the while ago. He didn't know what he was supposed to call it.