As promised in the 16 Week Writing Challenge, I will be putting up samples of work I did from the preceding week.
From my memoir in progress, Down Ladder: A Submariner’s Tale.
“Eight-Count Bodybuilders! Begin.”
I dropped down like a bullet traced my scalp. I started into them. I was a machine unbalanced, pressed, at its limit. My operator was exceeding the threshold. Any minute now springs, bolts, and sprockets would fling off into the compartment around me. I was sick to my stomach. My innards were only tethered together by skin. Soon, it would rupture. Sacks of blood and pus and liquidated bone-marrow would start flooding out of me. I couldn’t breathe. I was shaking. My body was crashing. The heat. Damnit, the heat of the compartment at that time was edible, and I was devouring hot by the mouthful.