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The first thing I felt was fire.
It started in my throat, a burning that spread like molten metal being poured down my windpipe. My body tried to cough, to expel whatever was killing me, but nothing came up. The crushed almonds had already dissolved, already begun their work of turning my own biology into a weapon against me.
I couldn't breathe.
My lungs screamed for air, pulling and pulling, but my throat was closing. I could feel it happeningāthe soft tissue swelling, expanding, cutting off the passage until there was nothing left but a pinhole that whistled with each desperate, useless gasp.
My skin erupted next. Hives bloomed across my arms, my neck, my face, each one a point of searing heat that felt like being stung by a thousand wasps simultaneously. I clawed at my throat with my free hand, nails digging into skin that was already raised and angry, trying to tear it open, trying to make a passage for air that wouldn't come.
