Coming Down

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.

When I woke, I found my body folded up around my stomach like a clam. That was where a hardening pearl of pain thundered, building pressure I couldn't ignore even while unconscious. My brain tried to get a sense of my surroundings at the same time as another part of my brain tried to figure out why my body hurt. In the disorient of awakening, that liminal state between sleep and full wakefulness, I had trouble interpreting the split information, like trying to watch two movies simultaneously.

I was outside. Cushioned by grass, my cheek itched. Hot and sweaty, my other cheek and forehead were hot on the edge of burning. I kneaded my belly, searching for the source of pain, hoping I could work it out like a knot of muscle. Blue sky, like frozen ice, filled the spaces between treetops. My mouth tasted like bad eggs. Shivering, sweating, I rocked as another pulse of pain roiled through me. My skin felt too tight, like a balloon stretched too thin.

The crash was always worse than the high but still I chased her.


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Comments (2 so far!)

ElshaHawk LoA

ElshaHawk LoA

Perhaps you were kicked in the gut?

  • #3404 Posted 5 years ago
  • 0
Robert Quick

Robert Quick

One way or another, yes.

  • #3405 Posted 5 years ago
  • 0
  • Published 5 years ago.
  • Story viewed 3 times and rated 0 times.

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