Disillusionment

  It was a strange sensation.
  It started with the curdling of the heart, and a deep drop somewhere in the diaphragm, followed by a slow tightening of the throat, fingers writhing and an electric spark in the eye. It felt as though I had caught the flu, but had nothing of the fever, with my heart beating rapidly but no heat of the mind to speak of. Oh my heart!
  It was just me, sitting there, staring, and as the sensation came I thought of all the mountains in the world, the skyscrapers that man had built to challenge them; it was as though an earthquake had swept though the lines of tall, proud constructions -the product of nature and men- and leveled them to their knees, leaving nothing but grey dust and bland rubble. Oh my heart!
  It was more than that to me. I could not imagine anything else quite so fascinating, so unusual, yet so very wrong, so devastating that it shook me down to my very core, like a knife through a stick of butter, twisting and wrenching as it goes, bleeding oozes of yellow that resembled pus more than oil. Oh my heart!
  It occurred to me that this wasn't real, but the sensation was already in motion, and if nothing, I could not deny my feelings, for they are the only things that I can feel. I looked on as the scene unfolded horrifically, tearing apart the waxed-paper wall that I had been hiding behind for years, recoiling as the monster reached out for me, took me by the heart, and throttled it. Oh my heart!
  I shook with fear inside, for on the inside, no one can hurt me but myself.
  Was what I thought.