Every muscle in my body aches. Every tendon and join is protesting, loudly, and my hands a dry and caked in charcoal. Discomfort means growth, though, right? I’m supposed to like the burn in my thighs, and the rocketing discomfort every time I try and raise my arm to make another stroke on paper. I’m […]
I’m drowning. I’m constantly sinking under the incoming waves. The panicked thrumming in my chest is matched by the shaking of my hands as I try to keep myself afloat. I didn’t want to go swimming but somehow here I am, sinking in an ocean of adrenaline and distress.
The tiger was a more finicky sigil, and she took her time making sure the angles were perfect.
A very short story written over a weekend. Let me know what you think!