A Hole

A word,

Spoken —

Spoken at the wrong time,

The wrong time in the wrong place,

The wrong place with the wrong person.

The wrong person is hard to know;

Hard to know when the right person is there.

A glass thrown toward the wall.

The room drops —

Becoming as still as mercury at negative fifty degrees.

Eyes locked.

Lungs seized.

Thought no longer remembers.

But fear —

Fear starts to drip.

A percolated dread.

A heavyweight of the senses.

A gravity of a million suns forcing your body in place.

And as the glass resumes its strike,

A high screaming tear rips through the deafening anticipation,

Right before it explodes—

A siren warning you to take shelter before the bomb hits.

And then,

The deep impact.

A shrapnel bleed.

A spray of a thousand jagged teeth —

Waiting to sink into your flesh.

Run.