Can you ~imagine~ [Kousei]

[maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte]]

Fear. The final sin. What drives men to battle and mankind to madness. A plague which has infected us since birth and follows us until death. As a child, we fear the dark the terrible monsters waiting to attack us, just out of sight. In our first moments we fear the light, the infinite possibilities far beyond our comprehension. As we grow, our fears shift and warp just as we do. What is fear but that of a man's own boundaries, constructed piece by piece by no other than himself? Fears do not make the man, but the man makes his fears; stone by stone he builds his own walls. And that is, perhaps, what makes it so dangerous.

I wake this morning surrounded by the acrid stench of fear. It fills my lungs, wrapping its smokey tendrils around my chest and pulling me into a blind panic. It burns my eyes and stings my throat, choking down the words desperate to leave my lungs. Father. It was the first thought to race through my muddled brain. The only thing I could make sense of. My back was off the soft mattress in an instant my eyes swimming in protest of this sudden movement.

I could only make out the faintest of shapes, the thick smoke made it nearly impossible to see; to breath. Coughs echoed through the small house, deep and rough. Though the source was far too near to be my father. It was me. Dropping to my knees, I desperately fought the overwhelming oblivion tugging at my oxygen deprived mind.

One I bring one hand forward
Two There went the other.

I continue on like this for a good while. The smoke only gets thicker as I grow weaker. I must find the end to this madness. The smoke turns black. Here. The source of the smothering cloud. I force myself upward, one last burst of adrenaline sending new found strength rippling through my body. My hand made contact with something searing with heat. I could feel blisters begin to bubble on my calloused skin as I ripped the copper pot from the stove.

For one second, just one second, my frantic motion cleared some of the smoke. I made out the slight outline of a window.

Freedom

There was a flurry of rushed footsteps. A loud clatter echoed throughout the house.

Air

Clean air seared through my lungs. The smoke danced through the room, throwing itself out of the window. At that moment I was glad we lived in a semi-secluded part of District Seven as I, halfway out the window gasping for air, might have raised more than a few awkward questions which I lack social skills to deal with.

It wasn't until I heard a feeble cough that I moved. My father must have left the pot on our stove. "Papa?"

My bare feet echoed through the empty cabin. I went straight to his room, the door making a loud sound as it struck against the wood paneling.

My father lay, still as death on his bed. His dark skin was unusually pale, sweat dampened his brow.

"Papa." My voice was soft, the fear twisting into my stomach, digging at my very being.

"Hey baby girl. Would you mind taking the oats I was cookin' off the stove? I don't want it to burn."

"Papa..." I felt sick. I had to go, I had to leave. "I have to go."

I couldn't stay. As worried I was about him I just had to get out of there. I left without waiting for his reply. I closed the door quietly, taking off into the forest depths.

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