THE RIDDLE OF STEEL

It begins as a echo, a tinny sound like an old Fender Twin Reverb amp being powered up, that crackle of the speaker and the tinny coils that produce the sustain. A far off sound, like the slapback from a concrete wall a half a block away. There is a feeling of confusion that follows, a momentary spike of hypersensitivity and the threat of the roaring of the world that begins but does not follow through. Calm again, although the feeling grows in the back of the throat, a darkening swallow of potential energy. Then the hum begins, drawing on the ambient sounds as it's energy as it begins to focus. There is a touch of pinkish mist in the air for a second, and the edges of objects present with painful exaggerated outlines. The roar is gaining now, past the lower thresholds that vibrate in the sinus cavity, and the bones of the ear moan with unwanted anticipation.

The strike is like lightning across the forehead, a jagged rip in the fabric below the scalp and all balance is lost. On hands and knees, the deep waves of nausea are almost drowned out by the screaming in the ears, the crispness of the detail of the ceramic tile, the imperfections in the grout, the mote of dust disturbed by the displacement of the air around the body as it falls. The clarity! The clarity of the back of the hand, straining and yet off-balance as the white knuckles support the frame, and the hollow pop of the cheekbone as it strikes the cold surface with a flash diminished only by the omnipresent howling in the ears.

Darkness? No. Shivering, sitting up and trying to regain composure. The effects have not lessened, but are familiar enough to regain motor functions. Daring not to stand, a shuffle towards the medicine cabinet to find the big white pills that dangle relief but like a pretty stranger's smile, never deliver on the hinted promise. A stagger to the bedroom, and despite the cacaphony, the candle burning in the window is still too loud to be borne. The hot smell of skin and bruises, the headache has now arrived.