Under Attack

This thought enters my mind. It is unwarranted and unwanted. It sits on idle waiting for the smallest chance to explode into the forefront of my cognition. Given the green light by mere circumstance it runs over everything in its path, dancing in fancy among the reasonable. Its delights like a child watching fireworks on the sand in my head. It rides unbridled and once loose I, the owner, become the prisoner in this game of wills.

Options lay before me in intricate network firings. Flight or fight. Make the choice. Give in to the lusty smell of the uncontrolled or rage against the intruder until the death of consciousness. Frantically searching for the potent elixir to silence this all too rushed taxi cab driver with the bad English accent. I retreat to the small space in the back seat and collapse.

My life support system rushes adrenaline, my core aches and pounds. I am running a marathon for which I have not trained. My body controls itself with small muscle tremors that leaving me feeling like I‘am standing in a rain storm on top of the North Pole. Nothing comforts the rumble in my senses of the thunder and invasion of the ominous closing clouds. I am tossed in the sea of hysteria as the salt forms around my lips and in my throat. I struggle for sounds and the taste of clean, fresh life sustaining liquid. In the remote parts of my cortex I can hear repeating sounds, “you’re ok.” I can’t hold onto those words and make them mine. I have succumbed and only time can toss me onto realities shore.

Time passes and my breath quiets. The racing, pounding and relentless rush is gone. This thought that interrupted the normal flow of my synapses is tired and retreats to the subconscious underworld in which it dwells. Exhausted, I am done.