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ID: nNEln6FO/qst/6252740#6252850
6/4/2025, 6:35:36 PM
His voice cracks beneath the weight of the footage’s quality and braces against the flatscreen’s speakers. As every node in your body demands that you stand, that you break from paralysis-the grimacing blur on tv writhes in anguish of saying his piece. He keeps going, you only catch pieces as you try to move again, grimaces and expletives,apologies and heaved sobs. “I’m sorry, god I’m so fucking sorry.”
Pitiful rabbit eyes leak, you can see the shimmer and mentally trace the veins on screen even from this distance. They’ve eluded the rotting compression. The phone’s alarm bleats on, a war drum compelling you to finally rise from the wet crater in the chair. Something fires off in you, a renewed focus-and you begin to gasp and breathe.
The speakers crackle on. “Other people get a chance, everybody, everyone else gets a fucking chance. God. Oh God.”
Your eyes finally move, and your body follows suit as you begin to hungrily drink in the air around you, the rush of sensation nearly casts you to the ratty carpeting beneath you.
The buzzing in your ears leave and sound rushes back into place as if you’re pulled from water. Your hand swoops down to the table in one motion, grabbing the phone. “please god don’t think I wanted this, I didn’t ask for it god.”
TIME: 10:45
You bring your finger down upon the button, finally ending the late alarm. there’s not a single part of you actively registering and processing any of this-but the underlying panic, and residual tightness in your chest didn’t leave when you stood.
You stare into the bright screen, notifications are sparse-only the automated ones from a selection of apps. Clutter. No one has contacted you.
As you stand in the living room’s center, at the table’s edge. The noise and distortion clear from the television’s speakers, and a clarity washes over the room as the noise clears.
It’s enough to draw your gaze back to it.
Tortured eyes stare up at you now. Pleading. Wet. He speaks as if he were in the room with you.
He speaks to you.
“Bad things shouldn’t happen to Good people.”
The tv goes black, and the apartment is in darkness.
>you will turn on the lights
>i will go to the laundry room and face the wall
>You will call Kaitlyn
Pitiful rabbit eyes leak, you can see the shimmer and mentally trace the veins on screen even from this distance. They’ve eluded the rotting compression. The phone’s alarm bleats on, a war drum compelling you to finally rise from the wet crater in the chair. Something fires off in you, a renewed focus-and you begin to gasp and breathe.
The speakers crackle on. “Other people get a chance, everybody, everyone else gets a fucking chance. God. Oh God.”
Your eyes finally move, and your body follows suit as you begin to hungrily drink in the air around you, the rush of sensation nearly casts you to the ratty carpeting beneath you.
The buzzing in your ears leave and sound rushes back into place as if you’re pulled from water. Your hand swoops down to the table in one motion, grabbing the phone. “please god don’t think I wanted this, I didn’t ask for it god.”
TIME: 10:45
You bring your finger down upon the button, finally ending the late alarm. there’s not a single part of you actively registering and processing any of this-but the underlying panic, and residual tightness in your chest didn’t leave when you stood.
You stare into the bright screen, notifications are sparse-only the automated ones from a selection of apps. Clutter. No one has contacted you.
As you stand in the living room’s center, at the table’s edge. The noise and distortion clear from the television’s speakers, and a clarity washes over the room as the noise clears.
It’s enough to draw your gaze back to it.
Tortured eyes stare up at you now. Pleading. Wet. He speaks as if he were in the room with you.
He speaks to you.
“Bad things shouldn’t happen to Good people.”
The tv goes black, and the apartment is in darkness.
>you will turn on the lights
>i will go to the laundry room and face the wall
>You will call Kaitlyn
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