sadisticalpenguin
The feeling of despair weighted the room tilting it towards the neverending abyss. As people flowed through the doors the air in the room became suffocatingly heavy. They were close now, closer than they had even been, but this would be what would tear them apart. The room sprang forth a loud creak and plummets through the crack in the Earth, racing towards the inferno. They clutched at one another in their final moments. They knew they must get out somehow.
Scrambled up words spanned the chalkboard, foreign to my eyes. Damn, I thought, if only I could tell what it said because I know they're gonna call on me.
"Tullia, could you read example 3 off the board?"
"Of course," I said in a voice tinged with malice, "I know exactly what it says."
I don't understand why they always picked on me, they knew I
Melodious sound flowed out of the radio and spilled out the windows into the busy street below. It went unnoticed to many, but a few heard it calling, beckoning them.
She took a long, refreshing sip from her glass of ice tea. Hmmmmm.....it needs something, she thought, but what? With the knowledge that she would not be able to enjoy the full flavor of her ice tea until she found the right ingredient, she set out on a journey. To the Home Depot, she thought, they know everything. As she pulled into the Home Depot parking lot, her parched throat screamed it's thirst out to her. She had to get the answer fast. She raced against time, jumping over abandoned carts and scuttling trash. She reached the store and almost ran over a salesperson. She said in an out of breath voice, " How can I make this ice tea better," but then she looked down at her empty hands in disdain, she had forgotten her ice tea. She collapsed to the ground and died.
Heart racing, canteen beating against his chest as he bolted through the forest. How had it come to this, he thought. But, surely, surely there must be something better on the other side of the forest. Some sort of refuge, safehaven perhaps, but with his luck probably not. Chances are it would be just another broken dream fueled by anger and sadness. Though there was no other choice, the only way he could go was forward, no looking back now.
A torch of light surrounded by the Darkness. Casting dancing shadows on the cold, dead sodden floors. An air of surreptitious beings traipsed through the room causing rampant shivers to jolt down her spine. She tried to run, but she tripped over what seemed to be a spherical object that glowed with a dim shimmer. She picked it up, it seemed to be some sort of box, but what was inside and how to open it? The box felt uneven, yet smooth as if shadows of intricate designs had once graced the cherry tinted box. Wait, there seemed to be a latch on the side, she delicately sprung the latch and it burst open. As if unable to stay closed any longer, bursting with memories, bursting with dreams. Inside, on velveteen cloth lay a single tear splashed letter and a small golden clad locket inscribed with some indecipherable text. Although it could not been seen, she could almost feel what it had said as waves of nostalgia overtook her. It had been a letter, a letter from the government, bearing bad news, bad news about a man, a father, speaking of an accident, a fatal accident, an expolsion, to a family, a young girl, and inclosed was a necklace, a locket, a treasured present, belonging to the girl, she had given it to her father, she had given it so he wouldn't feel homesick, so they would be connected, forever and always. She picked up the box as it had fallen from her hands during that remembering and she stroked the side. Her hands pouring her feelings and mingled dreams into the box, so that she would live on to give the next scared girl hope.
As his wrath consumed him, his sensibility took the back seat to sheer hotheaded anger. His conscience evaporated in an instant, leading him to irrational behavior. This was unlike him, but anyone in his situation would have done the same. Traumatizing events result in rash, irrational actions or so it would seem.
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