The most terrifying sensations are those in which the body is forced into its stress mode, all neurons and electrodes firing fanatically in hopes of solving the problem at hand or ultimately avoiding impending danger...
The morning she lost her keys for the first time sent her into a "fight or flight" panic she's not experienced since that one time she never talks about with anyone. At least back then, she knew her adversary and how to find him. The keys on the other hand, were deliberately out of sight - the little bastards.
It begins with a flood, a virtual pouring of heat starting from the scalp and working down to the organs. The microfibers stand at attention and the spine snaps straight making movement stilted and exaggerated. Then the jelly begins to slide about the kneecaps and hips, making balance a challenge. The fists clench, knuckles pulsed rigid as the antique sterling digs small imprints in her flesh.
Her teeth burn away at their own enamel as she pushes them full force against each other in a lock damn near impossible to undo, even with the right tools. Her eyes water, not tears, but some panic drops, literally leaks out the sides and attempts to soften the chiseled lines caused by the fright in her face. It never helps, only makes whatever make-up placed there a glossy goo that only helps to show her age, not conceal it.
The stomach twists, like a dishrag wrung to its exhaustion and then snaps taut. She looks her thinnest, most fit, when she's prepared to fight. The nausea undulates and rises up to the back of her throat where she would allow a scream of frustration to escape if there was room.
And it is in this sensation, this feeling that overwhelms her, that she feels detached, most out of sync with her universe - out of the control she holds so dear. The violence that erupts inside leaves her woozy and grasping at whatever guise she can pull and even then,...
She no longer recognizes herself.
1 comment:
This was very, very, very good.
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