It looks frozen, moving so slow it cannot be perceived within a human construct of time. Arm and leg muscles struggle against pounds per square inch through an amber prison. The sun is up there somewhere, shining down on it all. It could be around another world for all it matters now. Vomit threatens emergence through jerks of choking. The sweetness of the syrup presses air from the lungs. There is no longer a separation between air and fluid. This is forever. Don’t believe? Gag on attempts to intake breaths and see. There are none available. 

What a strange sensation that awareness goes on throughout the ordeal. It builds character. Some are meant to survive and some are not. Boil the skin to make it soft and peel back the truth. Set fire to the dead to scorch what is scary. Maintain cleanliness. Order the world so the trajectory of supplies can be determined when they are ejected in the blast to come. Follow the scent. Fingertips to walls to read the legacy in the dark; in absence of eyes, other abilities grow stronger. Put into the world of humans, the mouse is destined to figure out the path alone. Those kept behind the glass, floating in a tank of forever, point the way. Speed the signs and it will be clear among the riddled walks.