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Cicada Nights
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Rachael was suddenly the specimen being dissected under the microscope lens. Two sets of eyes pointed her way, and then the innumerable others on the other side of the camera lens staring, unblinking, depicting what was left of her life in cold realism.

She nearly opened her mouth, but the hinge was somehow rusty and creaking and she felt her stomach try to jump out her own throat.

Rachael heard them out, her quivering eyes tracing a line over the two boys that a three year old could have drawn cleaner, more often she looked to the ground or to her own feet which spun rapidly as the blood continued to slush into her grey matter with each rapid fire pulse of her heart. Their words offered little comfort. Daggers in the form of syllables really, wicked talons tapping their way up her spine in shivers with each attempt Adonis and the unknown face made.

All the same, I appreciate it...

She consciously understood she wasn't in danger, why couldn't she calm down and think clearly? Why did her head feel so hollow and empty?

And her eyes were flayed like animals skinned, the tears had burned themselves over her sclera in a permanent etch of her own pain and fear. She turned away from the gun as it did from her, finding shelter in the cold bones that formed the jigsaw pattern of her hands in interlocking ridges and grooves. She was safe.

She finally forced herself to nod. Settle. Her desperate stuttering became deep inhalation. Rachael's breathing began to ease, she continually had to gulp for air still but at least steadily.

"O-okay... I... I'm safe. I, tuh-trust you guys..."

She'd nearly choked trying to say even that much. She hoped they could somehow carry on the conversation without her. It was almost ridiculous, in a way.

I'm willingly going to listen to Adonis, of all people.

There was a familiarity to her state, the way her lungs and belly rounded, tensed, then relaxed all in rhythm. It was like breathing for yoga. A few more memories blossomed as she took the time to calm herself, to feel the deafening screeching static in her head melt away so she could process something, anything besides her own mortal fears.

She'd spent a beautiful evening relaxing with Daniel. Early morning yoga, she'd pushed herself deep into a powerful posture with each muscle settling into a yawning stretch.

She'd forgotten to take her medication.

Here and now Rachael's expression was forced into neutrality. Her eyes were half closed, her gaze was indistinct and unfocused, but she still saw everything. She couldn't, not for a moment, let her awareness wander. She didn't know when she'd become so paranoid.
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Sad Tunes · The Cliffs (DANGER ZONE)
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