Sleep, Memory

I am working in a recycling factory. There are hundreds or thousands of containers for recycled materials, filled with empty bottles or cardboard or glass. To move around the facility and get to the containers, I stand on a series of conveyor belts. The belts go around and around, taking me through well-worn paths of cast-off items.

I have a knife — like a small sword, really — that I plan to use to kill myself. I’m hiding it under my jacket as I travel along the conveyor belt. I run into someone else on the belt who is pregnant. She tells me that she should get to use the sword first, and I give it to her, and watch her cut herself open.