a brewing storm - book two

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The feeling's back. It's all encompassing. I want to cry sometimes, other times I feel as though I'm stuck in a void that's so endless and vast I feel as though I can't breathe. As if I'm suspended in time, just a minuscule speck in an ocean of being. The silence is so dense and domineering, that I choke on it. A look of hatred burns; a feeling of utter humiliation and embarrassment rises within me, starting from the pit of my stomach all the way to my throat. I know I'm going to cry. And I try - really I do - to stop the stream from leaving my eyes. But my attempt proves fruitless, there's a trickle starting down my chin already. I can't bear to look into those eyes that harbor such a heated hatred. At times like these I really wish the ground could just swallow me whole and take me deep down into the pits of the earth. I want to shrivel up and cry, the looks people give me feels like a knife stabbed into my chest. So much judgment behind those eyes, what did I ever do? Tearing through the tension there's a sound; it's heavenly and fills my ears as if it were a blanket of heat. Church bells toll, like they're calling to me; reaching out for someone to listen, to hear. I pause, my eyes drift to the bell tower, the beautiful windows caging the bell as if it were a guard gracefully granting us a glimpse into heaven.