Richard M. Ankers - Author

The sensation began as a prickling beneath my fingernails, a discomfort, nothing more. Yet, like an electric current flowing under my skin, through veins supposedly carrying blood, not animosity, it made a circuitous route of my body sparing not one inch of self. If someone had shaken my shoulder, slapped my face, it would not have roused me from the catatonic state I’d fallen into. As realisation spread and reality fell into place, memories stirred and myths became truths, I felt what she’d felt; it hurt. And through it all, throughout this experience I wished never to repeat not once did she blink. In eyes of pooled sapphire, she saw through me, her inner lightning flickering, then upped and walked away.

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