God is calling… (the Jacksonian March)

I sit up straight. The pain catapults me from my dream; a fiery miasma smashing me against the surface of reality. I suck in breath and grab my right hand with my left. The pain is molten hot, jabbing through the muscle of my thumb. Like the “ring-ring” of a phone at the end of a long hallway, it jingles as I watch the thenar muscle gradually contracting it into an unnatural position. I feel the tiny fibers coiling themselves into the smallest possible mass, imploding into the event horizon of a pin-point black hole. Then they relax as the echo fades.

“Ring-ring.” Now my first two fingers are also jolting in the dance of fire. The increased pain causes me to bite my lip as my hand contracts into a fist. I can feel electricity running through my veins; smell the brimstone in the air. My forearm burns. I force air through my lips; suck it into my lungs. I am fighting it, even as my thoughts feel vacuous and distant. The fist is no longer a part of me, except as a source of excruciating pain. I feel the muscles relax just a bit.

“Ring-ring.” The fist jerks up as my biceps snap themselves into a ball of lava, almost hitting me in the face. That same part of my face is writhing and boiling; reverberating with the same pain. It feels as though it’s ripping itself off the bones underneath. My lips contort into a toothy sneer. I will not let go before I have to. I think to myself that every moment is precious. I see my daughter’s face.

“Ring-ring.” The entire right side of my body has been perfectly immersed in acid. It slams into a knot, so tight as to rip itself from its moorings. I feel the joints and ligaments cracking in white flame, while the rest of me lies in flaccid ether. I think of my lover…carnal and platonic.

“Ring-ring.” The lightning bolt strikes me and I have only enough self left for the momentary realization that I am no more. I shatter into infinite sparks and then there is nothing.