Under the Microscope

It feels like I have been kicked in the stomach¹, unfortunately something I have experienced.² The difference this time is that no one has physically touched me.³

The effects, however, are identical.⁴

Air claws its way out of me in short, sharp bursts.⁵ My throat tightens trying to halt its attempts to escape.⁶ My lungs scream with pain demanding its return.⁷

I want to run.⁸

I need to run, but my body betrays me.⁹

I have, unwillingly, surrendered all control.¹⁰

My feet have taken root,¹¹ as if now one with the polished, wooden floor¹² beneath me.¹³ My eyes refuse to close and can’t be persuaded to look away.¹⁴

I stare at the yellowing, newspaper cutting that is taking centre stage in the display cabinet. The text scurries around the paper, like ants at a picnic, but the accompanying photograph is as