Waiting- part of the very short story series

Her hands were sweaty. Her heart raced. Her stomach turned its empty contents. Her thoughts spun a million magnificent webs, none of which reflected rays of reality. There she sat, staring out the window. Questioning herself. Doubting herself. Fingers tapping the table. Legs bouncing. Watching the people rush by. Wishing at this moment, she could be one of them. One of the million people hurrying elsewhere. She wanted to be anywhere but here. She felt sick. Her empty stomach revolting. The feelings crawling up into her throat. Was the bathroom close? Swallowing it all down. Waiting and wishing she had said no.

Layer- another very short story (part of a series)

Not sure where I am going with these series of very short story writing and if I can somehow weave them together.ย  Guess we will see.

Layer upon layer. Hidden beneath her protective armor. Looking down. Staring at the ground. Never looking up. Never making eye contact. Avoiding. Shrinking. Slowly fading into the scenery. The thousand other faces bleeding together. Caught in the tide of society, the emotionless waves of people moving. Oblivious. Lost souls. Together they were nothing. Invisible just how she longed to be.

Naked a very short story

Laying naked on the cold tile floor. The coolness from the tiles against her damp skin. Her body too weak to move. She enjoyed the feeling of the cold tiles against her skin. It was real. Perhaps the only real thing. She could cling to this. This feeling. The feeling of wet skin against cold tile. She could enjoy this moment. This moment. This brief moment which offered relief. Relief from life. From suffering. Relief from thoughts, feelings. The world. She laid there, relishing in the feeling. Her cold wet skin again the cold tile as her skin began to prickle and her body shivered. This feeling. This feeling for a moment stopped everything else. Until slowly, everything started to invade her world again. Sirens. Voices. Madness. If only she could hold on a minute longer. A second longer. It was too late. Life had made its way back to her. She opened her eyes. Stared at the door. Wishing somehow she could sink into the floor. Disappear. Vanish. She could hear the footsteps approaching. She forced herself up. Grabbed a towel and begin to do what she did best. Pretend.