#sickeyes

Monachopsis: The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place.

A shadowed side hits the wall with a dull thud, a cloud of dust left in her wake as she rounded the corner. The beast is down on all fours, teeth snapping in anticipation of seeing the terror etched onto her victim’s face. She found nothing.

The sight of the newcomer was enough took her by surprise, reeling back slightly, hesitating to size him up. Not a new target. Where had the other poor soul gone? The crimson trail left from their brief frenzy led straight to here…This was not her target. Sarah didn’t want him.

Rising to her feet, shadows burnt away from her, hands balling into fists as she made a swift approach to whatever the hell had gotten in the way of a kill. He wouldn’t make a good meal, certainly not, perhaps killing him would b-

She’s stopped short, fingers uncurling when her gaze found his face. This wasn’t right. The rage had quickly bubbled away, replaced by a heavy feeling in her gut. He looked ill. A bloodlust so strong, yet killed as soon as some sick bastard got in her way.Getting weak, Sarah?

"The fuck?" The conduit can't bring herself to complete the sentence, broken words trailing off into eerie silence. The beat of her heart seemed oh so much more prominent now, blood gushing in her ears as she stared down the street to meet his gaze.

She wasn't sure what made her feel so uneasy about the situation. Usually, nothing would stop her from tearing this man apart, painting the walls with his blood and leaving him to suffer. Yet, she wanted to turn and flee. Run from him and never look back. She shouldn't be here.

"You've ruined my day, asshole."

obscure word drabbles | not accepting

kenopsia: the eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that is usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet.

he tries not to think of it anymore.

there are walls in his mind. something that becomes a blockade, a dam that he wants to use to block out the fear and loneliness but it’s cracked enough that it manages to seep through. the more it all seeps through, the more he has to think. the more he has to feel. he can’t be content with his addiction anymore. he can’t pique the corners of his lips, or turn a blind eye to the blank space he’s created.

the city still bustles. it bustles with or without him. it’ll bustle long after he’s six feet under after becoming entrapped in a storm of bullets. it’s bustled no matter how many people are aware that there is a bioterrorist serial killer on the loose.

but this place… this is different.

murder is one thing, but the people of rainier probably got wise and figured they were better off staying out of the scope of a cannibal. this is where it all began, after all. seattle’s trademark rainfall has managed to wash away the flood of red that once covered the soles of his decrepit tennis shoes.

this is where he swallowed bottle after bottle. where he woke up in hot sweat, where his vomit soaked as some lady with the fingers cut out of her gloves was nice enough to rub his back, to let him know everything would be okay. that this was all temporary, and each and every one of the people struggling just to make a few dollars today would go on to survive.

now it’s all questionable. the echoes of drunkards and crying junkies who missed their family or people who just had run-ins with terrible luck fill this concrete square. how would all those people be doing now? what had they done since that night when he’d brutally come to terms with his hunger?