We are so placid that the smallest tremor of objection is taken as a full-scale revolution.
I'm dyslexic, I have attention-deficit disorder, and I've got something like a hereditary tremor.
Whenever you made a choice, especially one you'd been resisting, it always affected everything else, some in big ways, like a tremor beneath your feet, others in so tiny a shift you hardly noticed a change at all. But it was happening.
There is a sadness at the back of life which some people do not attempt to mitigate. Entirely aware of their own standing in the shadow, and yet alive to every tremor and gleam of existence, there they endure.
Was this the big one or was this the small tremor, the warning? Does it get better - does the sensation of being in a dream underwater go away?
Biology designed the dance. Terror timed it. Dictated the rhythm with which their bodies answered each other. As though they already knew that for each tremor of pleasure they would pay with an equal measure of pain. As though they knew that how far they went would be measured against how far they would be taken.
Pull a thread in my story and feel the tremor half a world and two millenia away.
