█ ▌┋ 「♙」` two whole days – the amount of time it’s going to take for a grieving father to arrive, bloodshot eyes unable to lift from their permanent fixture on the tiled hospital floor. isaac’s in shock ; overheard two nurses conversing mid-hallway, worried glances in direction of defeat.
he watched her die. and he couldn’t do anything about it.
here one second, gone the next.
allison winchester’s in a body bag, three doors down. and he can still smell the scent of her perfume, lingering like lacquer upon his skin. what is he supposed to do? how is he supposed to move on from this? how is he supposed to face her father?
The cup of melancholy, drained to the dregs, bittersweet in that the love of happiness and joy is tempered now, from longing for the delicate and pensive feel, that comes from dipping into
the small and lonely pool of melancholy. Grief, a distant specter, hovering in the fringe of chance, is nearer now, melancholy, the doorway, slides open on silent hinges,and admits the crushing tide.
His breath faltered and numbness followed slow ringing sounds and melodies were overhead, silent ,yet chaotic . Anger, longing, denial were the emotions that filled him all at once.Tear constantly welled up in his eyes ; no matter how many time he tried to wipe them off, blurring his vision ,( almost causing an accident ) as he drove back to Beacon Hills.
He rushed into the hospital, and headed straight towards the reception. As the Sheriff led him towards the morgue, time seemed to slow down, everybody surrounding him melted away and there was only one thought occupying his head.Please let it be someone else. Let it be Oh god. There she was : stone-cold , defeated , lifeless . His knees weakened and struggled to keep standing on two legs, backing off until he reached the wall. The trauma making him slowly collapse on the floor.
