It wasn’t that the world pressed down on him like a weight. To say that would imply it was a passive thing, some lifeless mass. To say that would imply it was simply a slave to gravity, and that it pressed as a result of some blind attraction to the earth below.
For him, it was a very active, very alive thing. The World…with a capital “W”. And everything that was the World gathered together and formed a massive hand that extended down from Heaven. Then it wrapped its fingers around his skull, holding it in its formidable palm. And finally, at times that the World seemed to derive the most perverse joy, it would press down. And squeeze.
“I’m always in control,” the World was saying. “Always have you in the palm of my hand. And I call the shots.”
It was the stuff migraines were made of. But, in fact, it was worse, far worse than that. A migraine would have been a happy relief. In the worst of these incidents, he was brought to his knees.
Inward, the massive fingers would flex, pinching, digging into his scalp. He could feel the pressure building. Hear the blood pounding in his ears, trying to flee his skull. Boom! Boom! Boom! Like a telegraph, a message to the rest of his body. Get ready!
No…not quite like that. It was more sinister. It was an omen. From the World. An impish messenger, announcing the coming of more pressing. It was prophesy…a sign of more bad times to come.
Yes. That’s what he was feeling today. He combed his fingers repeatedly through his hair, trying to find the fingers that belonged to the World. He felt around as if they were some corporeal things, like he could touch them, like he could pry loose their grip from his scalp, if only he could find them.
He had enjoyed no such luck yet. And with no ibuprofen, no aspirin–nothing with a sufficient alcoholic content to smooth it out and take the edge off the pain, he had no choice but to continue searching with his fingers. Keep on probing, keep massaging…and praying.
—
From a short story I never finished. Can’t even remember what the story was supposed to be about. Just liked this beginning.
Not certain why I posted it here today. Feeling a little ebby. Or is that “flow-y”?
True Life 