And the tension mounts
A wall of metal coming down like a guillotine between the very back
inside of your forehead and your eyes. It slices, then gets lodged
there, a thick piece of Japanese cast fine metal, the kind that would be
forged into a knife if it weren't stuck in your frontal cortex.
It's best to pick the descriptors ahead of time, feel them out -
understand the weight and heft of each item. Metals are preferable to
plastic. Steel and iron are better than aluminum. Precious metals need
not apply, you've got no time for their fussiness and they can't stand
to be used in any but the most spectacular of ways.
When you think of all the ways the metals can come down (fast and
heavy, or worse, slow and light) you will want to hold onto that space
between your eyes. Not the third eye. Not the eyeball. The more you try
to ascertain just where that space is, the less likely you are to find
it.
It's best if the pain and discomfort is in more than one place at a
time. For instance, you are now acutely aware that you have a heavy
gauge nail jammed into your heel and the thickest part of that over
calloused appendage called the foot. And because you are the type to pick scabs, you are
pressing on the most excruciating spot with your other foot. You are
trying to see just how bad it is, while feeling frightened about what it
means. The diabetes, is it getting worse? Do you have an under-skin MRSA?
Your throat, meanwhile, is coated with sticky and impossible to
clear mucous. You clear your throat, when only your children and the
dogs are listening, sounding like a machine grating against sand, and
yet the viscous thickness will not come out. You swallow, clear, cough,
hack and it's still there, a lump of wet cotton sealed into your inside
neck with rubber cement. Perhaps it's an adhesion.
You had better get that checked.
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