「SO OUTSIDE OF MY MISERY, I THINK I'LL FIND」
「A WAY OF ENVISIONING A BETTER LIFE」
「FOR THE REST OF US, THE REST OF US」
「THERE'S HOPE FOR THE REST OF US, THE REST OF US」
•THIS IS BOOK II
• THE FIRST BOOK IS CALLED "Revenge"
•ART CREDITS ARE UNKNOWN:...
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Chapter Thirty-Six: Fight or Flight
Warning: Touch of blood, description of fear
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FIGHT or flight is a response caused by stress or danger that makes your brain respond by either defending itself or fleeing to safety. However, these are not the only responses your brain can produce. The first is the fight, the instinctual part of us that will defend ourselves if necessary. The second is flight. This involves trying to escape or avoid the threat altogether in order to protect ourselves. The third is freezing. Hitting the pause button. This is when our bodies involve a state of paralysis or the inability to move. We freeze so that we can avoid being noticed by the predator, or to remain still in hopes that the threat will pass by. Then, there is fawn. This is not a very known response, but it refers to the response of trying to appease or reconcile the threat in order to avoid harm. This is submission.
Satoru's never felt what fight or flight is like. He's never felt the need to. Any obstacle that he has come against, he has never been too afraid to know what to do next. His body is in sound with his mind, and with a clear mind, he has full control over his body.
Yet, here he stands, paralyzed with fear. His feet are glued to the frozen ground, and the muscles in his legs feel so tense that he's afraid he will tear or break something with even the slightest movement. He wants to draw back, but he can't move. He pulls back his torso, wishing that it would create space between him and whatever is before him. His hands are shaking violently has his sides, making him ball them into fists until his knuckles have lost all color. Goosebumps arise across his skin, causing the hair on his arms and the back of his neck to rise.
He becomes pale, the color draining from his face. Despite the freezing temperatures, sweat beads on his forehead. His palms are clammy, and he can feel sweat rolling down his back. The air is so thick that every breath he takes makes it feel like the air is being pulled from his lungs. His chest heaves, his shoulders rising and falling in tandem.
His eyes are wide, his pupils dilated so far that you barely see his glacier-blue irises. His eyebrows are raised, but they're drawn together. His vision is blurred, and black spots cover his peripheral vision, causing him to whip his head from side to side. He's afraid to tear his gaze away from in front of him, fearing that something will appear inches from his face. His mouth is dry, and his tongue keeps shooting out to wet his lips, but it feels like it's doing nothing.
This is fear, he thinks. Unmanageable, paralyzing fear.
It feels like years pass as he stands there, unable to move. He can hear things skittering around him. Twigs snapping. Puffs of hot breath on the back of his neck. Whispers that rise then fall silent. Laughter grows from the expanse of the dark forest, taking over all of his thoughts, and making him wince. It's so loud that he can hear it echoing around him so much that he's beginning to believe it's only in his head.
