Dust Breakfast

I felt as though every wisp of hair on my body was being pulled, or stretched rather, outward in the farthest of directions, not to akin this sensation with pain, no, it was far more like an intensely sharp tingling, equally tugging throughout my flesh, unsettling the fat and twisting my blood vessels into pursing knots. I was, (how could I put it?) I was wholly giddy--or startled--maybe frightened--that I was, upon the gasping of my eyes through that downing light of morning--inexplicably glad to be living--to be alive and breathing, munching through my breakfast of dust as it flouted through those drafty airs of my room and made their way inside my loosened mouth, as they always did, but, today, I actually noticed.

FellowMan