The words refuse to emerge from my throat, as if there is a brick wall stopping them. The outsiders scream for an answer, they're all up in my face with their anger radiating off them, like a poisonous gas flooding my lungs. One word slams against the wall over and over, creating a crack small enough to emit a feeble sound. The pathetic noise crawls up my throat, sinking it's claws into every inch of my throat it can find. The blood is pouring, rushing, filling my insides. The crimson distorts the word, and as it finally crawls from my mouth, gasping for air, it nonsensically turns into a small and weak, "eeh..."
This makes them more irate. Their glares pierce me like daggers, daggers with barbed edges. They make deep gashes over my vessel.
My worthless body. For I am nothing, and they know.
