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Crucified on the mattress, unable to move, I wait for the yellow light to wash<br />
off my body. But it takes its time. When it’s gone echoes linger. Tissues remain<br />
sore as if scarred. Muscles ache as if for too much exertion. I wish it were true. I<br />
wish I had run, swam across a river, escalated a mountain. I have done nothing.<br />
Adrenaline did it. Ancient rituals. Souvenirs of the wild.<br />
Please. No enemy is here, no threat is in view. These are nightmares. I shouldn’t<br />
have to fight ghosts. “Don’t get all worked up,” I say to my neurons, synapses,<br />
hormones, all the darn apparatus. “We live in a civilized world. Rage and stress<br />
have been managed. Phobia analyzed. Past trauma resolved,” I explain to my cells.<br />
But they have a mind of their own.<br />
Black and White 7<br />
Allen Forrest<br />
76 77
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