Painful cold nights

Fine shards of rain are blown across the cold night sky like a glistening diamond being forced through a sharp wired sieve as I lay in a heap on the hard and grainy rubber track. The Hyperion floodlights loom over me with no remorse. Like a patient on a stretcher under the intense illumination of a surgical lamp my face grimaces not from visual impairment but from the pain inflicted on my mortal body. My head pounds like the twang of iron being thrashed by the hammer of a blacksmith. With each undulating strike the nausea starts to creep up my abdomen like a coiled serpent ready to leap viciously from my stomachs’ pit and release itself into the wild. My lungs gasp for oxygen despite the harsh bitterness of the air that surrounds me but no inhalation seems to be able to calm my erratic condition. My eyes close and I see whizzing specks of colour dance in a blurred murky blackness. I hear a high pitched cacophony of sounds akin to nails scraping down the slate of a blackboard and the sharpening of knives. Have I descended to the bleak oblivion underworld of Hades? Slowly this hallucination fades away and reveals the cold night sky and the rain.

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