It starts out as a premonition, a looming and ominous hint.
The base of the neck feels stiff and foreign. You tilt your head, stretching as if trying to listen in to a far away noise that soon reveals itself as an oncoming train, strain. Eyes stare outward, grow a bit wider, you hate being right. It is coming.
The first strike is as sharp as you remember, hits you from the side, like a bitter wind, penetrates, resonates. The pain spreads. You're now certain something's spilled inside you. Your stomach agrees and ties a knot.
Time to hide from the light, eyelids heavy, eyes beneath tender. Deep breaths only enforce this reunion, minutes stretch. Knuckles outline the brows, hard, a placebo you tell yourself helps somehow. Hours grow.
Fractured messages now slam around inside this silent chamber where only you can hear yourself break. It's going to be a long night.
