"J-Just sit down? L-Let me explain... ?" ( from Ryo? )
Six-Word Sentences.– – no longer accepting. (x)
Panic is known for triggering a certain amount of adrenaline within one’s system, followed by the microscopic activation of several molecules and cells with names perhaps way more convoluted that necessary–in despite all the minimal details and facts regarding the human body, it happens to be a quite unpleasant sentiment, one most people would choose to evade by all means possible. It is not easy to dodge nature, to deceive what can’t be deceived as a natural law, reason a to why some cascade to an advanced stage of melancholy. A trauma can come to be the source of the growing panic within one’s veins, or it might come from something as stupid as genetics taking the shape of a disease; in Thomas’ case, the first option was found to be more suiting. The aftermath regarding the accident around eleven years ago scratched the entrails of a naive and gullible child, leaving discernible vestiges through the protracted road behind, leading the the development of a calamitous and spontaneous illness through the high levels of cortisol in the organism and the secretion of hormones through the amygdala that influence fear in its purest shape.
The aggravation of the young male’s condition was given by the control stripped from his porcelain palms, when the shadows engulfed a desolated orphan into the sea of desperation, where the grips of strings were cloaked around long fingers, where hope was but an illusion. Secrets were caged and sealed away into the profoundness of his own heart, kept secluded behind closed doors by the end of a long closet where a letter laid folded, utensils managed for kill coordinated to a peculiar taste. It has always been a cipher the photographer did not foresee under exposure in the future, let alone a near ones such as the present day. The sun had descended over the horizon several hours ago, the retrospection of inviting another being over slipping his mind like a paper taken away by the wind–it was more than a punch to the stomach, the scene unfolding before hazel orbs. A female stood by the depths of his closet, curious and delicate fingers dragging along the words inked to an old paper of a letter delivered years ago, the air knocked out of velvet stringed lungs with the dormant demeanor of pale fingers taking over as a bag collided to the cold hard floor, and perhaps that was the point where his presence was made known.
“What the hell are you doing?” It came out perhaps in a exaggerated intonation through the quivering of strong vocal chords, defensive, somewhat abrupt, yet it couldn’t be helped when the golden padlocks of a long lasting secret were so plainly denuded and ripped open by bare hands. Hawk-like hues did not blunder the obvious halt in the latter’s breathing, or even how the paper fled from in between polished nails only to meet the ground, fear reflected withing the orbs boring into his own resentful ones, paces taken forward yet a magnet seemed to have been situated between the two bodies in question, repelling the movements as Thomas’ feet dragged him backwards, slender fingers carding through silky locks with frustration and desperation exhaled in the form of a sigh or perhaps huff. “J-Just sit down? L-Let me explain… ?” The voice has a shudder to it, it was hesitant and for an observer such as the photographer, invisible details to the naked eye of normal humans did not flee his sense–there should be guilt within the tainted ribcages under a porcelain layer of flesh, yet the consequences that were probable under the unfortunate happening were too much. “How the fuck did you get in here?!” The echo of a scream was a victim of reverberation through the apartment, not quite intender yet anger was entrained through the thick walls of burning veins,dropping the ever so serene image the young male had been holding.
