The Misery

The Misery was like a searching homeless heatwave. It started at my toes, wrapped up my feet and tingled onto my legs. Before I could take control I was up to my neck in it. The desolation leeched off me and begged into my mind for some sanity. It sucked at my mouth like a passionate kiss after months apart. But there was no love. It was hungry – eager for my soul. It wanted to absorb the remaining happiness and hope from my open mouth. The wretchedness licked my tears as they cascaded down my face. As the angry heat surfaced on my wet cheeks the Misery gained momentum. Like a pan of oil being shown a hot flame, it bubbled and spat at me. Misery shows no mercy. It is an invisible boa constrictor compressing your lungs, as you gasp and gulp down air into the last remaining air pockets, hissing and taunting as you resist the urge to sink to your knees and bury your face in your shaking hands. And then it was gone. It left a quivering mess behind, who lay on the floor wailing, like a naked baby on a cold marble floor. I was infected and the Misery had moved on – off to be a parasitic weight on another victim’s shoulders.