The trembling in your fingers doesn’t cease. You stare at their minute quakes and suck in a quick breath, the motion rattling in your chest. You grasp your fingers with your other hand, gently wrapping around the digits. The tremors don’t cease. Now they’re just… muffled.
Your heart punches a sickly rhythm against your ribs. You close your eyes and wait for it all to end.
The air is merciless to you. You close in on yourself and try to suppress a shudder. You fail.
Your crouched figure sways a little bit on the scratchy, uneven floor. You don’t stop the shudders now. You’re like a tiny, shivering leaf still clinging on a withered branch. You take another rattling breath.
Minutes seem to pass by like thick syrup, about to drop, forming a glossy, glossy tear, light bouncing on it and around it. You wait for it to drop. It doesn’t.
The wall bites in pinpricks all over your clothed spine. You let them. The shivers and shudders are all you know now. Your eyes look all around the darkness of your eyelids.
You whine, the sound utterly pitiful to whoever might hear it. You freeze and open your eyes.
A white mug sits in front of you. Huh.
You stare at it with unblinking eyes, watching what it might do.
You reach a shy hand forward and wrap your fingers around its cool surface. You bring the mug to your lips and take a slow sip. Water.
Your eyes flutter shut and you sigh, a quiet ‘thanks’ escaping your lips.
A wave of gentle calm washes over you. “You’re welcome,” comes a slight whisper on your cheek.
|Originally written: January 04, 2022
YOU ARE READING
Choice Cuts
Short StorySweetest Decay, Series 1 A collection of my short stories I first published in my writing blog, Sweet Decay.
