Psychological
Claustrophobia
You awaken with no memory of the events prior. You shimmy on your back, dragging yourself backward through this little tunnel. Your claustrophobia sets in as you feel your chest contract. You produce little, stifled breaths, trying not to hyperventilate as you proceed shakily toward a dim light, one shoulder blade at a time. You perceive it to be a few yards away. You think of nothing else but getting to that light, emerging from this dark and suffocating crawlspace, however you ended up in it. As you inch backward, the walls form a bottleneck, and you are forced to pull your elbows in tightly to your chest. The passage constricts further, until your shoulders are abated on either side. You feel yourself beginning to lose control, indeed, to hyperventilate, as the pace of your breathing escalates. You feel a panic building as it begins to overtake you. In the distance, your fingers find the edge of the tunnel. You rip yourself free.
By Noah Husbandabout a month ago in Fiction
You Are Here: Entry 13
Most mail arrives by postal services, and yet a black envelope embossed with gold tumbles as you open your front door. It must be for your roommate Rebecca. She recently argued with her boyfriend, and you think, "This must be his idea of an apology," but as you retrieve it, you see it's addressed to you.
By Nikki Torino Wagnerabout a month ago in Fiction
Moment of respite
You shouldn't turn here, but there was no other way to break away from the crowd for at least a five-minute break and give your eyes a rest with a bit of green grass and plants. You walked straight ahead; the buildings all around were shades of gray. You couldn’t see anyone behind or in front of you, as if this whole space were suddenly meant just for you—this time, this moment. Suddenly, you felt as if this were it— that’s exactly how you feel freedom—that’s exactly how you feel and experience true silence and relief, as if hope had suddenly come to life right at that moment—from the complete dim into an incredible abyss that transports your thoughts to a completely different world and reality—something very close and familiar to you, but only beginning to take shape for a while—just for a moment—just a few times in your life, you’ve felt this thing that you couldn’t quite put into words, but you knew exactly what it was, and despite the immense weight emanating from the buildings and the vastness of the city and the people all around you in that space, you were completely free. That moment of respite—that was it. Suddenly, someone started talking to you; who it was, you don’t know—you didn’t see them, you only heard a voice, as if coming straight from you, from that space—both known and unknown—and also from this new one just coming into being. That voice seemed to have been waiting for you right there, in that passageway across from the hotel in the city center called Mestre; out of the sort of silence of the gray walls, that voice appeared That voice was familiar to you; it aroused neither fear nor uncertainty—as if you had been waiting for it for a long time, but it had never appeared before.
By Antea Lumina Kala Matylda about a month ago in Fiction
