Don’t ask where this came from. I don’t know.

They run rampant through me, the tremors. I live in fear of them, of the reminder of how fragile I am, of how fragile life is.

I despise them, loathe them, hate them. I want them gone. Out of my body, off this mortal coil. Gone, banished, denied entry ever again.

I dream of knives that will cut them out of my body. I dream of peace. Of stillness and solitude.

Of an end of fear, of pain, of this isolation the tremors have caused me to build around me. Of friends and family and people who visit because they want to, not because they are duty-bound.

I despise. And I dream.

A three-word Wednesday prompt (and all three words are in the first line!), but I’ll link it all over the place, like usual. Friday Flash. Weekend Writer’s Retreat. You guys know the drill. Another thing you ought to know? Starting Monday, at least half of the royalties from sales of all three of my books will head to charity. Be sure to check the contest page — more books are being donated for anyone who makes a direct donation, too!)