tw: blood, surgery, injections
Metallic was the clanking of the medical apparatus as they operated on me. The anesthetic needle pierces through my skin and the anesthesia sears the vessels underneath my skin. Each painful stitch of the suture waltzes through the corners of my mind as my nerves have not yet numbed.
Metallic was the smell of the swiveling chairs in a Jollibee at SLEX. A younger me clad in red pajamas spins with the chair, the red blurring as if a warning. I fell down.
Metallic was the taste of the air inside the car as I lay bloody inside. The pull of gravity seems to be non-existent as the car speeds through the highway. At that moment, everything metallic felt weightless and peaceful, and so did I.