Yevgeny Zamyatin — We [1126]

In the street. Wind. A sky of flying cast-iron slabs. And—as at a certain moment yesterday—the world was split into sharp, separate, independent fragments, and each, as it hailed down, halted for a second, hung before me in the air—and vanished without a trace. — Yevgeny Zamyatin, We, 1126

Note

Disintegration of the narrator’s perception mirrored in the fractured syntax of the world.