"What the actual hell am I seeing?!" Seth screamed. Wilmer's eyes rolled wildly in his head. Unnatural sounds seemed to emanating from deep withing Wilmer. "Wilmer buddy you okay?" Seth slowly approached is friend, noting the gentle twitches he made but completely missing the VR headset lying in a pool of blood.
Tears rolled down his cheeks. The chisle rested loosely in his hand. The head of the figure pressed firmly into the lace pillow. It looked so soft. The head had weight, and her closed eyes looked as if they could spring open at anytime. He could hardly believe that the marble had yeilded to him this way
How can I reconcile this? She had loved Willobee Sheffles' work since the first short story and had consumed it all. In fact, she knew in her heart that the reason for her inoculation against the prejudices of the time was because of her works. Yet here she was reading the published letters, and the prejudice that she had resisted was here in the open of Willobee's personal letters. The sudden insight was jarring. Willobee held and struggled with these in her writings. What am I holding?
"Help me," Joe mumbled as he stumbled into the office. He was trembling, sweat spilled down his face, soaking his suit. Indifferent faces surrounded the old man. He was so hungry and empty; why would no one help him? The emptiness was a fire just underneath his skin. A bright line of pain bifurcated his person, and it was growing in intensity.
The faces, they watched, eyes wide in terror and fascination, shot through with the indifference of wolves. Apathy screamed in him; a gaping, desolation demanded filling. He could feel it—something was happening, something that had happened before. He stood despite the weakness and stripped his clothes from his body. The eyes of the observers in the room widened. They knew something that he did not, or did he?
The bright line of pain became a wound. Pressure pulled at his skin, and all thoughts drained away. He split open, an empty husk opened and waiting. A fleshy cavern waiting for the next who would fill it. An older general stepped forward. He knew it was his turn. He removed his clothes. No one spoke as he climbed inside Joe. No one dared make a sound as the husk closed around the general, and the wound sealed.
Suddenly, they were upon Joe, helping him get dressed and find his way to his favorite chair.
I know I have it. I know I caught it. Probably from Clint that twit. Come on man don't cry in the bathroom. Time and place... time and place. Got to get out of here and back to work. Wait.. how am I going to do my work? Oh God. Breath, breath.
So they can't or won't understand me anymore. Doesn't matter. Well it does. Oh God, breath breath.
You know what is expected of you. You know what they expect and you know what you must do. They will only understand after you are long retired and dead. Maybe not even then. Okay don't compromise yourself.
Breath and move.
He traced the burn scars on her torso. She had been very reluctant but tonight was the night. The wedding had happened. Everyone had danced and sang. She wanted kareoke at the recpetion.
When she had come out of the bathroom presenting herself he could see the anxiety all over her. It poured from her face and filled the room. He had to fight not to sucumb to his own anxious thoughts and possible inadequecies.
It was only a fleeting reluctance everything faded in the embrace.