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Enormous Colossi glare down at you from above the murky skies. Their cold, stiff surfaces of mottled grey watch you; every groove is an eye focused on your pathetic husk. They frown at you, stab at you; threatening to rip your intestines from your gut. A shiver runs down your back, crawling across it like a funnel web spider. The arachnid breeds, multiplies, creeping all across your sweating flesh. Yanking your eyes away from the looming giants, you suck in the dry stale air. Your cracked lips clench further at the taste of chemicals and cigarette smoke. Your oesophagus stretches as if a plagued rat is trying to claw itself out. You force yourself to breath solely through your nostrils.
With a salty droplet from each eye, you allow your body to droop across a nearby bench; the splinter ridden wood offered little support in the concrete jungle. Everything was idle while your head spun. You are the deformed tornado of de-saturated hues – trapped within bitter metallic walls.In one such reflective surface is the distorted form of your face, more twisted and the painting 'scream'.
Sitting bolt upright, you force the rancid air into your lungs. Slowly the swirling ocean within your guts begins to stabilise. Muffled sounds start encroaching upon your eardrums – indistinct voices of blurred figures. Your tongue feels swollen and clad in thick sticky tar – it is impossible for you to call for help.
Something grips your shoulder, clenching it, squeezing it like a python crushing its prey. Jerking, thrashing, you try to escape the clutches of whatever beast holds you. Deathly wails, similar to a screeching cat, emit from the creature as it tries to communicate with you. You want to scream but cannot do so.
Suddenly the whistling winds slow along with the pounding of your chest. The grip upon your clavicle seems softer, looser, and somehow familiar.  With a raspy gasp of breath, the vile air freshens, the sour taste eroding into a sweet tang.
"Hey, you okay?" Even with the frantic tone the voice is comforting, soothing, "Dude! Answer me."
Glancing upward, you see the concerned expression cast across his face. Swallowing the bitter tar you reply in broken words: "I hate the city"
This was done for a Creative writing task for writing about sickness.
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Submitted on
September 27, 2012
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