your thumbnail is streaming a 24-hour infomercial
It started as a dull itch beneath the keratin, a rhythmic thrumming that felt suspiciously like a low-budget bassline. By noon, my left thumbnail had achieved full luminosity, glowing with the sickly phosphor-tint of a 1980s tube television.
LIVE AT THE VOID DOME
The pirate signal is aggressive and vibrationally taxing. Whenever I try to hide my hand in my pocket, the audio—a tinny, high-pitched scream filtered through a kazoo—only gets louder, vibrating upward through my ulna.
EYE-WITNESS: B. MULLINS
"The commercial told me my bone density was 'unambitious' then sold me a jar of dehydrated water. I bought twelve."
I fear the rest of my fingers will start selling subscription-based oxygen to the ghosts of the 22nd century, and I simply don't have the calcium reserves to support a full-hand broadcast.