Chills…

This afternoon, at the dreaded day job, we were told to leave early, which ordinarily on a Friday would be a bonus in bold. Unfortunately, being told to leave early today came from the office manager following a medical/ unknown situation which had left us all in uneasy and unproductive silence.

The truth is, as I write this, I still don’t know what actually happened. There was an awful noise, like someone struggling to get their breath, but so loud that it sounded across the whole office and brought a busy and noisy environment to a halt. The first aiders gathered, but no ambulance was called. Give them space, was the instruction. Then, a minute or so later, go home.

Whatever did happen, be it a tragic event, a scare, an illness, someone receiving the worst news, or indeed nothing so dramatic – the old mountain-in-a-molehill office effect – one thing is certain: those of us in close and not so close proximity were left with those cold chills that are so evident and so important in our descriptive fiction.

We have probably all experienced it before, that feeling where your stomach drops through the floor and your whole body, beginning with the back of the neck and ending with your forehead and the soles of your feet, goes cold and rigid, but it is a sensation and a feeling that we can never easily shed afterwards; I know I shall not sleep easily tonight.

When we write them, they feel powerful. When we read them, they convey many feelings and have an impact. But when we feel them, there is no way to properly describe what happens to the body and mind. The chills are cold, for certain, and powerful. They have impact and convey a feeling, if not many. But they are something else. They are suspense, and unease, and something else entirely.

Tonight my thoughts will be with those involved. On Monday I will hear the end of the story, whatever it may be, and process it as best I can.

Be safe, and be well. Be whatever you wish to be and make the most of it.

Carpe diem.

Elloise Hopkins.