Gaseous consciousness

Today I was awakened by a white light, and I woke up with a gaseous consciousness.

A consciousness without volume or form.

A guilty conscience.

On the subway, I furtively peeked into a fellow student's Kindle.

The boy was engrossed in reading a blank screen, while next to him, another girl was playing with her iPhone, also on a blank screen.

I thought it prudent not to arouse suspicion, so I joined the rest of the car and spent the journey enthralled, watching the news that a defunct monitor wasn't showing.

As I walked to work, I felt my consciousness condensing, reaching a liquid state, now with volume and a form ready to adapt to the containers.

At work, I've had the opportunity to participate in meetings and celebrations with blank screens in the background.

At the last meeting, I thought they'd overdone the air conditioning.

And I said so.

Immediately, seeing their eyes, also blank, I realized that the cold wasn't coming from outside but from within; it was my consciousness reaching a solid state.

Defined shape and volume.

When I got home, my wife asked me how my day was.

Fine, as always.

She told me something that had happened to her that morning, while showing me a photo on her phone and recommending a book on urban gardens.

And there it was, full of pixels, ink, and color.

Plasma is only within her reach, I thought, while preparing my consciousness to evaporate again.