It begins with a ringing in your ears, subtle at first, but slowly gaining strength and rising until the high-pitched squeal is nearly overwhelming.
You feel it next on your face, the burning sensation, the heaving, breathless, breathing flames on the side of your face, the heat and fire rolling around to engulf you ears.
The sweat follows, the beads of moisture welling up at the hairline, sliding down from the collarbone, percolating at the back of your neck.
You pass a hand across your brow. You run your fingers through your hair. You loosen the collar, or perhaps tug on the shirt to air yourself out . . . but there is no release. The ringing continues unabated, the fires rage, and the sweat now just has new avenues to travel, past nape and neck, past shoulder blades, past cleavage.
Can you feel it?
The pressure mounts. The noose tightens. The faint of heart cower low in their beds. Who will falter, who will fall, who will rise up and claim destiny's mantle?
Twenty-five and four weeks remain. The end is nigh.
That is all.
