Dull null

It wasn’t like the crying you would see in the movies, where the drama queen drops down on the floor and the images turn black and white, thundering ad tumbling tears pour down her agonised face and she shakes her perfect hair and shouts into the sky — No, it isn’t like that. It was more, it was so much more.

It was trying to breath under water, struggling to survive the crashing waves and inhale the terrible oxygen, waving your arms and legs, flailing and kicking to head towards the surface. Seeing the bubbles leave your nostrils and your mouth while you start to choke, it is that sort of feeling.

It was like the quiet room filling with a suffocating silence, like a silent killer driving a knife through your body, right between your lungs. It was a slow, sharp knife, pricking through the skin and then nudging between the muscles, tearing up the flesh the razor comes in contact with. Breathing in that moment you feel a great pain, right in the middle of your chest, it is that sort of feeling.

It was like lying in the snow naked, cold bites from the snowflakes that land on your skin, like a slowly creeping cold vine, sapping away your life. But you’re trying to make a snow angel and your skin scrapes against the hard snow, redness spreads from the surface to deeper tissue. Exhaling you feel more heat leaving you, a sinking, it is that sort of feeling.



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