I Put Words on Paper and People Enjoy It

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A concerned feminine voice met his ears. “…Leon?”

Leon.

He couldn’t think straight, Ashley’s voice multiplying and swirling in his head, noises overlapping each other like layers of fluid that poured deep into his ears, falling down, down, and mixing together in the pit of his gut. His clothes and skin felt tight against his muscles, which burned and ached with the urge to sprint while he still could.

I’m giving you an order, Rookie! You save yourself first!

Leon.

You’re a cop… you’re supposed to know something—!

Leon!

“I can do this,” Leon said between labored breaths. The words were surprisingly hard to get out, which was strange, because he didn’t mean to say them out loud.

He could see it in his mind, turning corners and shuffling down dark, twisting hallways. Keeping his ears open for groans and hissing breaths, praying that he still had enough ammunition to make it to the next undiscovered room.

“Leon? Leon! There's a—“

An iron grip snared his right calf and squeezed tight, tearing a pained yell out of his throat.

He tried to drag his leg away but the grip only clawed him harder, pulling him, breaking skin. Leon pulled out his combat knife on instinct, the one given to him by his Lieutenant, and readied himself to plunge it into the zombie’s throat before it could bite his leg.

“Leon!”

Another zombie went for his knife-wielding arm, tugging on it with a weak grip. He could feel its breath on his forearm as it groaned in hunger, rancid breath wafting into his nostrils as the living corpse tugged urgently to lead his exhausted flesh into its awaiting jaw.

Leon swiveled and shoved the zombie off his arm, knocking it to the ground with a yell. He was trying to remember his training from the academy, but his movements were panicked and instinctual. He couldn’t slow himself down to think his actions through, his body and brain filled only with the goal of survival.

The monster at his feet refused to release him, no matter how much he tried to back away or shake off its desperate hold. Its nails still pierced deep inside his skin, a cold burn that urged him to flail desperately. Leon’s balance finally faltered as he fell backwards onto the dirt, air forced from his desperate lungs.

The bloody leather of his gloves creaked from the strain as he held his knife in a shaking grip.

He just wanted to help people.

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The nurse’s dark eyes scanned him with a look of skepticism, before narrowing. “You don’t seem any different. Perhaps there’s a test you’re trying to get out of?”

His heart jumped. “N-No!—No… I feel wrong. I think something is wrong.” Mob pleaded. Why did he have to plead? Was the horror not showing in his eyes? “I feel a lot worse than I look. My chest—“ his hands squeezed the fabric that was still trapped in his fist, “—I feel like something is wrong,” he tried to convey.

The nurse crossed her arms and raised a brow. “…Do you have chest pain?”

“N-No, not—not exactly pain. But it feels like—“

“You don’t seem completely out of breath. How do I know you’re not just lying to skip school? This isn’t a very convincing show, Kageyama.”

Mob wanted to scream. All of his fear and panic was boiling under his skin, strangling his heart, but no matter how hard he tried to show it, all he could do was speak semi-evenly. It sounded fake to his own ears.

“—I’ve never felt like this before. This isn’t normal. My heart feels like it’s—like it’s trying really hard.”

The nurse exhaled a huff of air through her nose, before uncrossing her arms to shuffle some papers at her desk. “Oh, Kageyama…”

His heart dropped. “Please believe me, I—“

“I believe you,” she cut him off, speaking in the least-reassuring way possible. “But what you’re experiencing isn’t that serious. It’s normal, even. Some people experience this during their entire lives, or with much more intensity. This little instance really isn’t something to fuss about. It’s just some measly anxiety. Maybe your current grades are finally starting to sink in?”

This is normal? He didn’t feel normal. He felt like everything was crashing down around him, and nobody else could see it. Why couldn’t she see it?

Mob wished he was capable of crying, screaming, anything to show how he was feeling—but his body just wouldn’t let him. “Are—are you sure? There’s nothing wrong?” was all he could say.