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"i'll take a quiet life, a handshake of carbon monoxide" 𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥
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To say that Carl was mad was an understatement; an inexplicable anger ignited within him whenever the new boy and his sister were mentioned. The mere utterance of their names seemed to kindle a fire of temper deep within him, and throughout the day, the incessant chatter about them—rumours of a peculiar accent, speculations about their origins—only served to fuel his frustration. It seemed absurd to him how their mere presence had the power to provoke such intense emotions, yet he found himself unable to control the rising tide of annoyance.
The breaking point came when the new boy, Oliver brazenly sat at his table, interrupting Carl's ongoing conversation with Patrick. A flicker of irritation ignited, and Carl grappled with a conflict—should he leave or make Oliver leave? Opting for the former, he retreated to his room, seeking solace in the comforting embrace of comic books and escaping the looming lecture from his father about kindness. It also spared him from enduring Patrick's incessant rambling about a game that held no interest for him.
As Carl traversed the hallway towards his cell block, every minor detail seemed to irritate him—the incessant drip of a leak, the itchiness of his shirt, the way his hair fell into his face. However, with each step, the anger gradually waned, replaced by a faint pang of guilt that tugged at his conscience.
