Like A Fever So Close to Bone [2]

It's a chill, really.

Do you feel it?

It pushes deeper and at first you barely notice . . . But then it hits you like a heart that once came back to life momentarily and died again. You shrug. It was a feeling, but what could you do? It was gone now. You shuffle through your papers - there it is again, stronger with more depth somehow. It swells in your bones and teases your heart with a warmth it's never felt before. You lust for this feeling now. It was almost dangerous, believing this feeling could somehow make you warm inside. Yet, still somehow - you can always wish, right?

The wind rustles your papers again and you sigh, slightly more annoyed than usual. What was that tickling sound? It was so annoying, yet . . . Slightly peaceful. You begin to drift to sleep. . . tick, tick, tick . . .

Sweat is dripping down your face; your nose twitches, yet your head lays calmly on your papers as you sleep, keeping the wind from stealing your papers which could travel out to the world where they would be lost and ruined. You twitch again, and sweat tickles your nose; your hand rushes to shoo it away.
Slowly, your eyes open; there's a blaze in front of you and you now know why you thought you were burning in Hell in your dreams.

Fire blazed in your eyes like the large burning heart of God in the middle of his body (rather, the earth).

You're still slightly drowsy; tick . . . Tick . . . Tick . . . You close your eyes. Where was that coming from? The ticking was still there louder than ever against the shouting of the fire.

You close your eyes. You're just so tired, and the fire so warm. You do realiez, however, that you probably shouldn't have had those last few drinks that you thought would clear your head - rather, they have clouded your thinking and made you awfully tired. So tired . . . It's like this flame has somehow gotten into your soul without burning your insides out. How fascinating.

It tickles at your throat, a thoughtful tickle, whispering things you can't quite hear.

"Shhh . . ." you whispered aloud to no known body. I suppose you were rather or not whispering to that annoying ticking noise. Goodness, how that alcohol has made you drowsy. You've lost all good judgment.
The wind rushes in, tickling the hair out of your face. You scowl; how annoying that yet another entity was trying to awake you. Perhaps you should close that cursed window . . .

Opening your eyes to mere cracks you peer into a flame not inches from your nose. It burns as you sniff; the strong smell of metallic acid fills the air.
You should probably be alarmed with the close stillness of the fire, but you could hardly care. It was so warm, it was like a fever in your veins. You shift in your seat, slightly aware of the heat's brightness. You open your eyes completely. The reflection is like the brightest white you've ever seen. Suddenly, a smile creeps to your face. You realize, with some satisfaction, that the warmth in your veins is merely your warm breathing - and the ticking? - your heart. The flame - however real Hell seemed in its dream, was but a mere candlelight gleaming in your eyes. This was no fire of a sort, rather than a pinprick of warmth.

It was merely the taste of faith warming your heart and setting your veins on fire, like a fever to the bone.