It’s eating at me. Nothing I can do sorry. I am far too weak to fight it. All my energy, passion has been consumed by it the moment it entered my system. Now all I can fell is it’s hard hammering, it’s drilling in my lungs, as I try and breathe. I blink, again and gain trying to clear my eyes of it. My wind pipe becomes blocked as I try to gulp it down so it will disappear. I hit it. I hit it hard enough to bruise my fist, but it stays. It stays sat in front of my at the kitchen table. It continues to clot my blood until I begin to turn white because my fluids have thickened into a plastic goo. I beg it to go away, silently and in my bellowing voice down the phone. The sickening stench rises into my nose and pushes the word
dread
out of my dry mouth.
