Steve Tibbetts - Yr (1988)
Lithe fingers of ribbed plastic and nylon insinuated themselves into the crevices of Jeremy's cortex, molecule-thin invaders writhing through the puddle of his gray matter, tickling and pinching, twisting and tugging at dendrites and axons, neurons and nodes of ranvier. Jeremy smiled and peed his pants and spoke in tongues and remembered his mother in a yellow dress dancing with his father in his favorite dark suit but he couldn't remember his own name or why he had ever put the strange alien-colored toy up to his forehead in the first place.
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