Warning One-Twelve [Peter Ballard, 001]

012 : Seperation Desperation

(TW: mentions of blood and gore, possible triggering knife references..and one very jealous Peter.. enjoy :))

You were running.

A rhythmic footfall that seemed just barely too fast to be the pace of your own steps. A stranger captivating your body, continuing to exert your muscles as your soul consumed your thoughts in everything describable as what should be an emotion never known, never felt to witness cruising the route of your body with a dangerous speed. Throwing your hands into the doors, letting the slam of your palms against the steel echo as you increased the length away with every step. Your vision was blurring, your lungs burning with a fire of such smothered anger it only was left expressing itself as fear. Triggering your fight or flight, yet without an option to choose.

"One Eleven."

"One Eleven."

One Eleven.

You heard it everywhere.

Through your ears, striking one-way paths through your nerves. You could feel the beat of the syllables pulse in your bloodstream, thrumming with an overly achieved flow.

You heard Brenner, and his perfectly slow footsteps that made no effort to race towards you. Yet somehow, they seemed to always remain just at your heels, the click of his thick soled shoes ricocheting from as a close at the back of your head. He was close. Too close-

Stumbling over a crack in the tile you find yourself sprawled across the cold linoleum, chills raising with the instant drop of the surface temperature. It felt like ice, subzero temperature waters in a lake that had frozen over to leave you entombed under the solidified phantom flow of water. The lights were a flickering pattern of lightning. Illuminating every square inch of this hall you wished anything not to see. Its walls were suffocating you, dragging you under a spell of such uncomfortable remembrance it tugged your soul from your chest, letting it seep through the cracks in the wall to darkness.

The footsteps would keep at their incredible pounding, A sound like that of an out of tune piano, the same keys being prodded at, played at obsessively until its deception of tone were to snap. Forgotten, forever to sound distorted when played again.  It felt as if an army of people were after you. willing to grasp and drag you back into the ever so careful, yet needled touch of Brenner's hands.

Every click of the heel of so intruding, pushing your thoughts from behind your eyes in the form of salty tears, spilling over your cheeks, flooding your lips with their metallic tinge that reminded you of ocean water.

Freely flowing,

Beautiful.

Dangerous.

It took everything in you to get to your knees, hands slipping on the wet tile from your eyes to raise you to your feet. The flickering lights flashed their ominous rhythm, almost conveying messages with their flashing blinks. For second they remained bright and steady, the buzz of the florescent bulbs buzzing in your ears, shining light upon every crack and crevice visible to the naked eye. It showcased your tear streaked hands, which in same splattered the front of your gown, so drenched that it should have made the material transparent.

Or would have in the case that they had been tears.

And not the swirling red iridescent pools of obvious blood, your own entirely- running down your hands, only describable as a perfect match to the color of the polish that always adorned your nails. They were chipped now, nails short in grinding against the concrete grout between the tiles of the floor. The color was fully replenished now, replaced with blood running in streams down your forearms, mocking the pattern of veins under your skin.