Check this post by the brilliant Ash, one of the bloggers whose work constantly pushes me to be a better writer.
Raw panic claws at her throat and throttles her breath at the sight of Michael.
He has stepped forward, an emissary for all of them, ignoring her closed eyelids, her plea to be left alone. The imploring gaze from bulging eyes holding her captive. Dropping his jaw to disclose the pool of spittle forming in his labial cavity.
Don’t. Stop. Breathing.
She hums tonelessly. Hands pressed to her ears. Willing them to block the harsh staccato of his voice from entering her mind.
You’ll kill us all if you do.
But there is no us, Michael, it’s all in my head they say.
Breathe. Do you hear me? Breathe.
Oh my, aren’t you dramatic today, Michael? I am in control the white-robed ones say. I don’t have to listen to you. What is this red liquid running across your cheek? Is this your pathetic attempt at crying? Don’t you know…
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