Misfiring neurons manipulated the meat and bone it left behind.

Prompt: write a scene that moves through description.

The whole world was yelling at me. I was by myself. I was wearing my blue shoes and yellow shorts. I always wore a black shirt. I had tons of them but people thought I only had the one. Sometimes that was funny, sometimes it was frustrating. I wasn’t wearing my glasses then—this was before September. The thin membrane of my inner ear pounded against the bombardment of sound pressure. Warm liquid tickled the soft patch between my jaw and throat. Everything in my head sloshed. I had to center myself or I would lose it. Arm and eye repelled each other like two magnets and refused to align. The “my” detached from body; misfiring neurons manipulated the body left behind. I tried to black out the surge, but the rocking worsened. I would be sick. I—I was suffocating. I thought I yelled, but it too was far drowned in the blind uproar. “I” am far removed now and feel it go.

Some kids canting, others sobbed; still others stood by and did nothing and nothing. My quivering body opens like a dropped child, arms outstretched, knees locked, and I felt Principal McCullen growling above me. Blood painted his Irish-neck a boiled goose. A green pipe swelled and knotted there. He looked straight ahead with bulging eyes and sweating baldness. I became aware we were running. Then, something is reeled back to my broken body as my head bounced against his chest and secured the reunion of self. Lingering tremors sent distress signals back from all corners of my body. I dare not move beside the shaking in McCullen’s arms. I dare not know the damage that fool had done to me. I dare not remember the hollowness in my belly as we burst into the nurse’s office.






One response to “Misfiring neurons manipulated the meat and bone it left behind.”

  1. Rubby…

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