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📅 Published on October 5, 2012


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Estimated reading time — 2 minutes

These. Damn. Chills! I don’t remember when they started, I just remember having them…always having them. They’re the reason why I always wear layers, even in summer. Why I sleep with so many blankets. Why when I’m told to turn the heating down because the temperature of my room rivals a sauna, I never can. I tried to figure out a pattern to them, to see if they were triggered, but I soon gave up. They didn’t come in intervals, they didn’t come on certain days or hours, they just came. It didn’t matter what I was doing either, even in my sleep the chills came and woke me. Oh yes, my parents pulled the usual “Maybe the doctor can help.” Well, at least he tried. Everyone could tell when they happened, I’d shiver, maybe twitch, sometimes I’ll jolt, kind of like a spasm, but it’s only ever brief. But ever so obvious, that I just had a chill.

The most annoying thing about these chills, is that they don’t feel like chills. O, I’ve been cold before, I’ve felt the need to cross my arms around my chest and hold on to whatever warmth was available as the cold seeped in to my core. They don’t feel like that. No, if anything, they feel like stroking. One, long, bony, smooth, icy cold and almost metallic-like finger, stroking down my spine in a mocking show of affection. That’s what they feel like. And sometimes, they feel like more. Like something is breathing down my neck, or a chest pressed against my back and I’ll quickly turn to look-
But there’s never anything there…but the chills…

The chills are there.

Tauntingly gentle.

Driving me insane.

Because it’s as if the chill is always there.

Out of sight but always near.

Credit To: Friction

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