Don’t Panic

Oh my gosh, so sorry for the late update guys. I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving (or day, if you don’t celebrate it)! I’m not really sure what this piece is, so interpret it as you will. 

She hated it. She loathed it. She was terrified of it. Every day, without fail, her gut would clench as she walked through that door into the room that reeked of a danger that only she could smell. She never looked any of them in the eye. Why would she? None of them could be trusted. So she ignored them, hoping that all attention would remain on those who desired it, lived it, breathed it. That it would stay with those who could stand its threatening pressure.

It never happened that way.

The menace hung over her head like a damp fog, seeping through her bones and striking her with an icy dagger that pierced her core. The cadences would pulse inside her head over and over and over and over while the drone of a distant voice sulked outside like a starved beast.

Get out. Get out. Get out…

Sometimes they made eye contact and a wave a nausea rolled through her and blood rushed to her face before she quickly looked away. If the acknowledgment lasted any longer and the entire room’s focus was on her being, everything seemed to stop. Her breathing would hitch in her throat, every muscle attempting to fold in on itself and become one with the chair beneath her.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

Her pleas would go unheard.

Go away. Go away. Go away.

She never moved. She couldn’t move. The alarm bells rang like gongs but she could only try to make herself as small as possible. Then they would ask her to speak. She could never refuse them, no one ever refused them. So she would comply, her voice coming out in a barely audible sound that pounded through her head, keeping time with the pulsing funeral march.


Then they would return their attention to something else, and she would allow myself a breath of air, praying that it would stay that way. Sometimes it did. Other times it would happen again and again and again.

Finally, finally, she could go. She could run and it would be okay.

It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.

And it was.

Until the next day.


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Just a writer looking for words.

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