a familiar ache pounds at his skull, before climbing to a raucous din, and he raises a hand to his head.
and like the mask, freshly blotched with blood.Ī drip fell with a faint pat on his jeans before he stirred, lifting his chin a fraction. his wooden bat, by now scarred with dents and bruises, was perched upright beside him. Muting the world, he remained stooped, back to the wall. he wants to lose himself in that nothingness, shed his ghosts and be free, but. he is lost in its tide, the waves crashing uselessly at his crumbling shores. it was all white noise, a static upon which he is adrift an empty sea in silence. they tried to whisper to him, murmur of their regard- they were watching him, but he didn’t care. ➪ E WAS NUMB TO THE EYES, so many pairs, following him on their way past.
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