They're building behind our house and are putting in endless amounts of pilings. On the third floor, I feel every bump and jolt as they are pounded in. I feel like I'm living on one of the shadowed planets in A Wrinkle In Time and grow tired of the constant and steady rhythmic pounding. Pound, pound, pound. My thoughts follow the beat. Pound, pound, pound. My heartbeat is now in time. Pound, pound, pound. I hear it through every open window and even the vent above my stove. Pound, pound, pound. The wine glasses tinkle in mocking harmony. Pound, pound, pound. My feet feel the beat in the floor. Pound, pound, pound. I feel the vibrations through my bed. Pound, pound, pound. Try not to think of IT.

"For everywhere she looked, everywhere she turned, was the rhythm, and as it continued to control the systole and diastole of her heart, the intake and outlet of her breath, the red miasma began to creep before her eyes again, and she was afraid that she was going to lose consiousness, and if she did that she would be completely in the power of IT."


ccap said...

Oy! I would imagine there would be a never-ending supply of dust in all of this too, hey? (Says she, the queen of the I-Hate-Dusting club.)

Michele said...

can i ever relate.

Heather said...

Oh, there is NOTHING like repetitive noises that makes me feel like I'm going beserk!