The world is blurred. It shifts, reflects, refractas. Shatters, then pulls itself back together again. Your eyes - sore from being open - blink drowsily from inside the tank. Ankles bound, you hang upsidedown, chlorine swimming around you, suffocating. You sway, your raw, skinned palms clasping, nails digging desperately to your shoulders; the straight jacket holds you tight, though, and you remain there, drifting in and out of a world that no longer exists, drowning in your immortal body as the pressure claws its talons at your mind. It crushes the air from your lungs and the audience gasp in horror. Stage lights flinch as consciousness relinquishes its grasp. You are left to float, frozen in the cold, crisp water, eyes glazing over...a lost soul once more, trapped in the carcass of a dead man.
YOU ARE READING
Paranoid (Collection of Short Stories)
Short StoryJust a collection of short extracts, most taken from my GCSE work - they aim to cover different techniques; poem transformation, hell, emotional trauma...you get the picture. <(')
