Tremble, she wrote. But to tremble in fear, or excitement? To tremble with pain or pleasure?

Tremble, she wrote, her shoulders raised and muscles tense.

Her mind felt messy and her thoughts out of control, the feelings catching up with her – piling in her mind all at once.

Tremble, she wrote, and noticed her hands begin to shake and shiver.

Her heart began to beat faster, her lungs to crave more air, her eyes flicking from one place to the next.

Tremble, she wrote. And quaked and quivered.

Her mind raced, thoughts detached and out-of-order. She couldn’t clear her head to focus. The thoughts filled up her mind to the top, drowning her faster and faster, griping her heart and squeezing the last drops of calm from her.

Tremble, she wrote. And started, agitated, scanning the scabs on her face. Searching, picking, pulling, digging.

panicking, she knew she shouldn’t, she understood the consequences. She hates the scars, the stares, the questions, the blood.

But she must release the inner turmoil. She must let it out somehow. She longs for the release she knows picking will allow her.

Tremble, she wrote. And relaxed and calmed. Her shoulders slumped. She takes a breath and sighs, relaxed at last. Her head free of the thoughts and feelings of over overwhelming-ness.

She sat there, and started to write, in her own quiet, subdued, disappointment.

*

Thanks to The Daily Post for their writing prompt Tremble

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