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Post 1551. Sunday June 18

The Sunday Whirl.

I have used the twelve words in the order they were given in the preview. 

They are -  whistle, touch, wheel, word, gnaws, ring, prints, apart, broken, echo, thread, and fall.

Something whistles an eerie tune.

I can’t see it, can’t touch it but I feel it. It speaks. It yells. It’s telling me not to go. But I have to go. Now.

The wheels spin on the gravel and I career down a track. It's words gnaw away at my brain. Faster, I must go faster.

My phone rings, I ignore it. I splash through a stream, engine screaming, and climb a muddy bank.

My tyres leave a print. Will it follow my tracks? Soon we will be miles apart. We will, won't we?

Soon I’ll begin to repair my broken spirit, soon.

Still, its words echo round my mind. I try not to listen. I don’t listen, but still, they are there.

 Suddenly nothing make sense. Help me thread together my thoughts.

Oh no, please no. It’s steering me, controlling me. Up and up we go. Is that a drop I see before me, a precipice?

Everything is getting slower, slower, I’m going to stop. But I don’t stop. Instead, I fall and I fall and I fall in slow motion.

Is this a dream?

Please tell me it's a dream.

Please.

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