white flag

Hands cupped over ears, fingers weaving through fiery hair, tugging at strands. Soft, cotton blankets tangled like a white flag on a ship's mast being distorted in a heavy storm. Knees bent, spine hunched, abdomen doubled over, teeth locked, eyes squeezed tightly, body folding itself from one side to the next like spastic origami. There come great sounds with such a high frequency and deafening pitch, ringing through ears, shattering glass teeth, eyes widen as if they were controlled by the tongue being pulled like a string. Gasping, gulps of air, each one more desperate than the next, throat tightening as if a tourniquet was winding tighter and tighter around the neck. When death comes, is this what she will look like?