growing through me. Effort, concentration, that something more, all took their toll and as a large, oval plaque began to take shape, the world started blurring, forcing me to blink it back into focus, and, each time detail disappeared, the darkness swirling through me grew a little.
The gathering chill leadened my bones, as though nature wished to make my task all the more difficult, but still compulsion drove me. My growing fear could make little impact on that ingrained thrill of completion and I strove towards it like Great Grandmama's treats were waiting for me. And I communed with my terror. It was old, older than the puzzle, I could feel its enchanting malignancy in every draining piece. It brought cold sweat to my body and made my limbs tremble. Breath caught in my chest, making me struggle for it, but I was locked in my course, nothing could stop me.
And now, here I sit, that final piece in my hand. I feel its power, the freezing, convulsing hatred looming just beyond me, but I cannot fight this need. I lift the tiny sliver of wood, wondering at its bland colouring, but gasping a taut breath, my last, perhaps? I belong to this moment, it's like my whole sad little life has been leading to it. I take some solace in that thought. My fear is fading to a sense of inevitability. My hand now steady with purpose, I slowly reach out to the perfect, damning disk of wooden pieces and, without remorse, slide my doom into place.
IWACA SPOTLIGHT AUTHOR
ONE MORE PIECE
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