random prose

an excerpt from 'Twickenham Twickenham'

Gabe dropped to the floor, hard, clutching his head as the attack took hold. What felt like a slice of his brain was burning and scorching and searing with a pain that seemed impossible for him to bear. Sweating and writhing on the kitchen floor of his apartment he kicked out; looking for anything to alleviate this terror or deflect his attention away from the fact that he thought the inner workings of his skull were about to combust. He struck the leg of his cheap wooden kitchen table; it immediately buckled and fell, seemingly in slow motion, bringing with it the cup, plate and New York Times that he'd been using only moments before. Although his vision was dimming he managed to dodge the debris by thrashing and rolling to the corner of the room where he curled up against the old brown refrigerator that guarded the door to the living room. He was weakening now and felt like he was going to pass out from the pain. This would be welcome and he inwardly begged for it. His legs were still moving as his vision finally gave out. There was only darkness and white-hot pain now. Sleep would surely come now he thought. Then it happened. Images invaded his head, piling themselves on one another.

A car. More cars. A line of them. All black. And strange looking people. Flags. People taking photos. People laughing. Smoke. There's a man waving. People cheering. A loud noise. And light. Confusion. Screaming. Crying. Law enforcement are everywhere. More screaming. And running. Panic. Panic. Panic. Blood and sadness. And pain. Much pain.

It was dark when Gabe woke. His t-shirt was soaked in sweat and his kitchen looked as though a small war had occurred during his lapse of consciousness. He propped himself up against his refrigerator and sat, almost afraid to move, and tried to take stock of what had just happened.

What was happening? He was obviously ill or crazy or dying or...

Did he have an aneurysm?

Is this how they worked? Google would have the answer.

What were the images about? They had the familiarity of memories but they were too broken and strange and he was sure he hadn't even been born when that last one took place.

Why did he feel completely normal now? He'd just had some kind of trauma-filled attack yet his body felt fine. He felt good. His only problem was the worry of not knowing what was happening to him or when it would happen again. I would happen again.

After all, this wasn't the first time that it had happened.