concentration

She licked her lips, cruelly- as if to remind me of how parched I was. Her hair, small curly rings strung together into auburn chains, bounced with each step. Hmmm, I thought, are those natural curls or is that the end result of some beauty product. I'd learned to dissociate- it was my only hope for survival in this the darkest of times.

Her thunderous scream brought me back to reality. The situation was grave. I risked a glance from side to side. My co-captives were faring worse than I was- I watched a bead of sweat form upon the brow of my neighbor. It steadily trickled down into his eyes. I watched it intently. So this is how the Grand Canyon was carved, I thought.

I watched the sweat slalom its way down his cheek. It looked like a tear. I don't blame you, pal. Go ahead, let it out. I feel the exact same way. And I did feel like crying. Hope was a distant memory at this point- a childhood friend I should have kept up with. The truth is that I was afraid to cry. What if she noticed- what form of torture would she introduce next if given the pleasure of crushing my psyche along with my body? No, it was best to keep my head down.

Time had stopped. I realized I'd been watching the bead of sweat for an eternity and yet the clock had not moved. Another psychological ploy, I reasoned. And then I was overcome by anger. You cruel, evil succubus! It was time to make my stand.

I stood up. I began to pump my legs- there was still some muscle left! Hope reborn!

But then I looked at the clock once more. That wicked instrument, bane of my sanity! If not for that viscious sphere with its stubborn arms...instead of hands it had granite pillars- immovable, unwavering in their determination to...

"Turn it up!! Add resistance!!"

It was only 5:45am- still 30 minutes left of spin class at the Nampa Rec Center.