He massaged his wife’s fragrant bar soap on his well-defined chest. The right hand barely had to utilize any energy as the gravity of the soap glided down his rippled stomach. Dillon’s mind lost all focus of the board meeting he would be conducting in a couple of hours. His usually regimented synaptic impulses were now clouded. He could not stop the downward mental spiral. Just like all the other times, his exacting stream of thought extricated a low sounding, “No... no!” He shook his head from left to right, telling himself not again. His pupil’s dilated. He could not derail the hauntingly repetitious thoughts mixed with imagery unchanged, but like an early dream before R.E.M., Dillon could never understand his behavior, what the events encompassed, or the reason for it. Now bent over, Dillon was leaned down near the bottom of the shower with his foot standing on the drain, allowing the water level to rise. His calf was burning. He tried in vain to hold back the uncontrollable scream that was building in his throat; the one he desperately wanted to suppress, now forgetting who and where he was.
What do You think about Escape Velocity: The Anthology?
