#tw: suffocation

[ganemouchie]

I don't see a lot of visual art for while Jon was reading the "Statement of Jonah Magnus, regarding The Archivist."

His voice sounds strained at first, do you think they were holding their throat? Trying to suffocate themselves before it was too late?

Do you guys think by the end of it the paper was wet with tears?

You could discuss that he was more and more gone as the statement progressed, but I like to think that some fiber inside him refused to give up. I think they cried until the very end.

[l3ominor]

Febuwump day 1: Helpless

Fairy in a bottle

Trapped alone in the dark

Helpless and afraid

Air is dwindling, sucked away by panicked sobs

Darkness closing in till silence reigns, and all falls still.

[cinematicnomad]

THE TERROR ▸ 1.07 horrible from supper

[green-and-grey-kenaz]

The potion surged through his body, speaking deadly truths. You are alone. You have betrayed all that you stood for. You are forsaken. You are unloved. With such honesty coursing through his veins, Regulus could finally see, with his darkening vision, the Dark Lord's whispered promises for what they truly were. The Serpent slithering from his mouth, the lies slipping from his tongue... You are the Last of the Blacks. Their Legacy died with you. Regulus was without weight in the ice cold water of the cave. He could feel the fingers of the undead digging into him but it seemed so far... so distant. He was floating, free falling. Stars glittered above him and Regulus Arcturus Black fell through the surface of the veil.

Regulus here is depicted bare. This is meant to symbolise him going, stripped of his former identity (A Death Eater) and reborn, a tragic heroic figure. It also is further meant to represent the effects of the Emerald Potion, reliving your worst memories, in other words, you are barred to your past regrets and crimes, stripped down to only the essentials.

The snake leaves his mouth is meant to represent Regulus' own propagation of Voldemort's Death Eater ideology - his words were that of the serpent. It also takes the role of Voldemort, whispering in his ear and spreading it's poison. I tried to go with an adder - a British, venomous snake to kind of tie in with the idea of poison.

The thorns and flowers are Blackthorn, a tree associated with death and dark witchcraft. It twines around Regulus' body in am embrace, holding a crown tight to his chest. His death was a product of dark magic and the burden of his family. This is my own interpretation on the character, but I see Regulus' sacrifice driven by his obsession with his own sense of royalty. In his mind, as a prominent member of the Noble House of Black, it was on his shoulders to protect the wizarding world - it was the cost of his blood.

And so Regulus cries tears of blood, gilded gold.

He falls upwards and outwards of the water, towards the heavens, where the Leo constellation shines, his namesake just above his chest. It is the moment that he passes through the veil and is liberated from his earthly toil. The waters are calmed.

[sylviareviar]

I guess I oughtta give y'all an update, huh?

ok so long story short: Babushka Sveta didn't make it.

If you want the long story, you'll have to open the tab, but I do have to warn you, this may be TMI. I'm not sure.

While she was recovering from a successful procedure, she was jostled when they were moving her to a recovery bed and the tube in her neck popped out. She suffocated to death.

She never got to see my mom visit her, nor did my mom get a proper chance to say goodbye. My mom came back this Friday, but while she was gone, I also ended up getting hospitalized. Basically, I was struggling to use the restroom and the backup was hurting my lower intestines so badly I couldn't even stand up straight.

After spending a couple hours in the emergency room and getting a CT scan, I finally managed to give the doctors a urine sample and felt a lot of relief after that, so they sent me home with the instructions to drink lots of water and keep frequenting the bathroom whenever I needed to. They couldn't find anything wrong with me, but for once I was happy about that, because I also was of the belief that it was nothing serious. Like, I was in a lot of pain, but there was no need to blow it out of proportion because there were no stones, no major health issues, or anything like that; just your run-of-the-mill hiccups that happens every once in a while.

The day after my mom came back, my dad, who had gone with her, went to immediate care for his throat. I don't know what the situation is there, but basically, the idea is that...

this week punched my entire family in the gut and then some. We have wounds that will take a long time to heal from. There's a lot of tension, self-blame, and even frustration on my part (mostly college-related ngl) that makes things difficult for everyone.

Anyway, that's the long story long. This is why I haven't been as active lately. Sorry folks. I'll try to be on more often once I finally catch up on the things I missed in my biology class...

[friendball-irl]

😴+😨

-@sammich-dammit

Finally meeting. Making a bunch of food. Telling jokes and messing around.

Siblingcousinnibling.

-

Something happened to them. He's angry. It wasn't my fault. Crushing force.

I can't breathe.

[general-kalani]

{ @kaiju-crimson-storyandask wjkadhja oh the poor baby--- }

"Oh now you have a fear, Deputy? You didn't think there'd be consequences for injuring my OLDEST BROTHER?! Joseph will be proud of the work I did to that Hudson, you know. Wonderful, gorgeous art piece of a vivisection to display to Joseph. You'll be impressed at how good with a blade I am... I didn't break a single vein, you know. She survived so long, eventually succumbing to suffocation. Can you imagine that, Deputy? All of this could have been avoided had you not taking my oldest brothers eye. I can't wait for you to see her, Deputy."

[m-tribs]

Somehow, she was alive. Despite it all, despite the storm, the fights, the mutts, Mercuria was fully, and truly alive. Her breath was shallow, but she was atop the mountain, finally, difficultly, impossibly. She had made it. Through pythons, through Helios, through it all. And she was alive.

It was serene at the top of the mountain. It was a bizarre, alien sensation after the past three days she had lived through. It was a momentary reprieve, a breath. At the top, the mist of the storm could still be seen rolling around the sea, shrouding the various islands in a mysterious fog. The atoll was washed clean away, the wreck of the ship fully swallowed by the waves. It was easy to see all the places she had been, and the few that she had not. What a concept - there were six people left alive and there were parts of the Arena she hadn't even seen yet.

It seemed so peaceful, for a moment, that she was startled to shriek when the Panem National Anthem blared. Had night fallen that fast? That she'd be alone - truly, deeply alone - for the first time in the Arena? She craned her neck up, but it wasn't much. She had never been this close to the sky. In all her life, living in the mines, she had been down. Head down, in the earth. To be here now, on the precipice of the sky, where she could almost touch it... was unreal.

Her breath caught in her throat as Callisto's face illuminated the sky. Instantly, she heaved a sigh of relief. It wasn't at Callisto's expense. But what it meant was, with only two cannons, at least one Berry was alive. Slate's odds had skyrocketed, just by having a District One Tribute out. Not out - dead. That fact stuck the sigh in her throat, even as the second face - Flora Faye of District Seven - appeared. They were still alive. Nettle, Bramble, and Slate. Somewhere in the Arena, all three were still alive. And they would know now, that she, too, was doing her best to stay alive. That left Helios and Mars. Two Careers, both hellbent on getting home. Those two and whatever fresh horrors the Gamemakers had in store.

They were close.

It was time, then, to try to rest. But sleep was never an option. Mercuria found herself a small overhang, lest more rain start falling, and nestled in. She was just letting her eyes flutter shut when she felt it.

The smallest, tiniest pinprick in her wrist. In any other universe, she would have thought nothing of it. Back in Twelve, things bit her all the time. Mites and mosquitoes were everywhere. But this was the Arena. This was the Hunger Games. Mercuria raised her hand and saw it: a spider, no bigger than anything she had seen before, almost small. Bright, electric yellow dots dusted an otherwise jet black body. If it weren't for those dots, she wouldn't have seen it at all in the fading light of the evening.

But she felt it immediately. Like acid coursing through her veins, the toxin shot to her heart faster than she could cry out. She had only a moment to make a decision, and she did: she raised her hand above her hand, showing the spider to the sky. She felt the venom course faster, encouraged by gravity to speed along. But if she were to survive this, she would need help.

It was less than a minute later that the coughing started. Her throat slowly started to squeeze together, even as her salivary glands kicked into overdrive. Drool started pooling in her mouth, spilling out in flecks and puddles onto the ground in front of her. She fell to her knees, and the offending creature scuttled away, seemingly happy to have done it's job.

Convulsions came next, starting as a tremor in the hand that was bit. It ricocheted across her body, leaving her heaving in terror on the ground. She thought maybe, just maybe she could survive this, but then her vision started to fade. Flicker. Bob in and out. How? How had she gotten this close, this far, this place... only to be taken out by a spider? Perhaps that's what they wanted to see, out there. This was the gripping drama. Perhaps the Gamemakers were pushing to a finale and had deemed her uninteresting. Too far out from the others to be useful in the final fight. Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps. A thousand perhapses tumbled through her mind as she clawed at the ground, trying to find a way to relieve the intense pain that was building in her chest.

It had to be over soon, she wagered. Unless this was a particularly sick Gamemaker. Maybe that was it. A slow venom to kill. A worthwhile moment of television. If so, no. She would not give it to them. She rolled onto her side, cradling her arm close to herself. Even as the venom forced the occasional, involuntary kick or spasm, she would not show them her face. They would not get to see. This, she would keep private.

Then she heard the familiar ding! ding! that she had been so blessed with throughout her time. A gift. But what could would it do now? Perhaps it was a knife, something to end this suffering faster. It didn't matter. She heard the soft thump as the canister landed beside her. She fought her own muscles to get a hold of it and twist it open. A small boxed meal tumbled out. Useless. How unfortunate - someone had wasted their money sending her a meal that she'd never get to eat. And there was no one around to even pass it along to, if she could have done so.

She went to drop the canister by her side and accept her death when a small vial tumbled out. It was tiny - no more than a few drops of whatever liquid was in it. She grabbed at it. No knife, but fine - a poison may as well be the same. She had no regard. No thoughts. Maybe it was a pain reliever, meant to ease her passage. Maybe it was poison to speed it along. Who cared at this point? She struggled to get the lid off and downed the full contents, just barely squeezing it past her tightening trachea.

Instantly, the effects of the spider bite reversed. It was as if she had swallowed pure aloe; the acidity in her bloodstream evaporated and her throat opened as if she had never had trouble breathing ever in her life. If anything, her lungs were free even of the slight cough all miners had. She glanced down at the bottle to see a very simple word: antivenom. How wonderful, how horrific, that these bottles existed at all, ready at a moment's notice to be sent to Tributes. If the price was right.

She scrambled for the canister and found the note from Mahlon. No - from the entire District. How late had he been up? How closely had he been watching? That he could see the need, identify the cause, and send the relief? It didn't matter. Or rather, it did, but it was unexplainable. She burst into tears, found her way to her knees, and put up her hands in thanks before turning to the meal.

The canary wasn't out of the running yet.

[doueverwonder]

Gil: who you talking to?

Alfred: Ludwig, basement ghost.

Gil: the guy who was crushed to death??

Ludwig: technically they ruled I died from suffocation.

Alfred: technically they ruled he died from suffocation.

[the-smallest-star]

A stain on perfection

“Shit shit shit SHIT!” James had never ran so fast in his life, Brutus was an animal as his axe swung through the air. While James managed to avoid it the shockwave sent him flying, jamming the spear into the ground to stop himself from sailing into a nearby wall. The crowds cheers were so loud and James barely had another second to recover before Brutus was on him again, the hilt of his axe hitting him square in the chest and dislodging him from the spear.

Skidding across the dirt to a chorus of ‘ooo’s  James felt the wind knocked from him. He had to get up, even if he didn’t win the rules were to fight until he couldn’t.

“Whats the matter half breed, pampered little prince can’t put up a fight?” Brutus taunted as he dragged the axe behind him with a smirk.  James staggered to his feet, hand on his chest as he winced. Nothing broken... just probably bruised. Thats when Brutus came at him again. A swing from the right... okay then. James jumped and this time latched his claws onto the demon’s arm making them hiss slightly. Flinging James up he didn’t expect the prince to then bring his leg around to kick him square across the face.

The crowd erupted as James landed and stumbled and Brutus staggered back nursing his jaw for a moment in surprise.

“He’s doing better than expected.” Tirritus commented, glancing at Ebony who watched the fight intently. Despite her calm expression he could see subtle differences in her body language, “You’re worried my Queen?” “Don’t overstep Tirritus, I want your gaze on Brutus. We know he lacks restraint.” Ebony replied coldly, the adviser’s gaze snapping back to Brutus on her command.

As Brutus was checking his jaw he felt a sharp pain in his leg and roared, looking down to see James had gotten back his spear and slashed across it before moving to avoid the axe that threatened to hit him again. He wasn’t quick enough as Brutus’s hand shot out, grabbing James by the tail. He swung him up and slammed him into the ground as James gave a sharp gasp in pain. He was so very grateful for the armor he was given. Spear still in hand however he jammed it into Brutus’s arm making the demon bellow, he pressed a palm against the demon’s hand in an attempt to use his magic... Brutus snarled as pain shot up his arm and released his grip on James’s tail.

Scrambling James needed to put some distance between them, but Brutus was swift as he slammed the axe into James’s back. The half breed was flung across from the impact, feeling a heat across his back he knew was blood. The armor had saved him from a more devastating injury.

The fight continued; magic, spear vs axe and claws and teeth used until Brutus had enough. Claws digging into sand as James took a swing he flung his arm up, blinding the prince and grabbing him by the arm. Repeatedly he slammed James, releasing him after the 5th blow against the ground in which the helmet came flying off.

Everything hurt, James grit his teeth as he tried to get up only to find the large fist of the demon grab him by his face and haul him off the ground. Brutus began to squeeze.

James couldn’t breath. He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t get out of his grip and his vision was going blurry as the pressure increased.

If you think you’re going to die tap twice.

Reaching James tapped twice and the gong sounded.

But Brutus didn’t stop. “We’re done when I say we’re done half breed. A stain like you needs to be dealt with.” He rumbled. It hurt. It hurt and James couldn’t breath. His legs kicked and scratched, claws trying to dig in and trying to muster up any energy he had. But it was depleting.

He was aware Ebony was on the pitch, a blade as black as night as she was roaring an order at Brutus. He didn’t know what she was saying but she was aiming for the captain as guards were also charging in.

Everything went red... and then black.

[purifytheair-mysanguinebeloved]

it doesn't even feel like you care anymore

the world is dark

pollution

seeping into my lungs

i can't breathe

was i just delusional?

i can't breathe

was it all a mistake?

i can't breathe

it hurts.

i can't breathe

make it stop

i can't breathe.

[honourablejester]

Watership Down traumatised the absolute fuck out of me, apparently, because I saw this cute picture and all I could think of was the destruction of Sandleford Warren scene:

(WARNING: DO NOT PLAY THIS if you have any form of claustrophobia or fear of suffocation).

... Excellent book/movie, do not get me wrong. I remember it fondly. But it will definitely fuck you up.

[bornbreathless]

Honestly my brain impresses me sometimes, it's started incorporating my environment into my nightmares in fun and interesting ways. Sleeping with the fan on? That's the noise of the car engine while you're being suffocated in a garage! I got two screams in before I woke up properly! That's a new record!

[red-hemlock]

not on his blog but "HOT DAMN!" from richardo .

Send me “HOT DAMN!” and my muse will strip for your muse.

@beatsdrums (For visibility.)

@culebral (For the intended muse.)

// (Pray) ‘Till I go blind. //

// (Pray) ‘Cause nobody ever survives… //

Midnight in this shithole of a city, and she the temptation slithers across the bed with a fluid finesse… Rising ‘Eden’ to the writhing, salivating sinner before her, come this night in desire to sacrifice to the temple of flesh and debauchery; but here on this silk-covered ‘podium’, she was His idol. Deadly and warm. His empress always, clothed in sweet black lace that falls in too-promising a whisper; and bares supple, freckled skin to red ambiance.��

But not at all for the stupid fool bound to the bedposts.

// Prayin’ to stay in your arms just until I can die a little longer. //

// Saviors and saints, devils and heathens alike…. //

A knee falls strong to the crescendo of the tune wailing in the background. Crushing a tender throat, and all hope of her prey to taste ‘Heaven’ before she begins sending him straight to Hell in a slow-spiral. No quarter given. No mercy to be had. The murderess turns over-shoulder to look at Him across the room.

The one whom this whole hedonistic display was meant for.

“…You’re ‘ruining’ my hit, Specs.” Simply said, and with a flick of the wrist the little lacey number is tossed to Richard’s feet, as the choking struggles of a tied man desperate to spare himself from suffocation fall on deaf ears. But those eyes and lip-bitten smirk beckon with a wicked brand of command.

She was in control.

// She’ll eat you alive. //

[vanya-imyarek]

Death by Ivy

Ancient Greeks considered ivy a plant sacred to Dionysus. On jars and gables, the god and his followers were depicted draped in it as they drank, danced, played in a triumph of unbridled life; or as they tore apart their enemies in a violent, bloody frenzy of death.

Looking at the trees covered in ivy, I can't absolutely figure out how the Greeks thought this plant could be exciting in any way.

-

"The trees are dying because of the ivy" said my father.

"Is that so?"

"This vine is suffucating them, stealing all the ground's nutrients. See how there aren't any leaves on them? These trees are all dead. Up to a little while ago, it was farmers who took care of eradicating it ... but now, almost nobody actually passes by there, and no one cares for the plants"

-

Up to the old stone bridge, the path is beautiful, especially now in the early spring. From the lush green of the grass, pops out the blue and purple of wild flowers; the trees are still bare, but their branches are heavy with gems ready to burst into new leaves. Walking, you might disturb some water fowl, or be forced to a stop by a wild rabbit's mad dash up to the bank of the canal.

Up to the old stone bridge, the path really is beautiful.

-

The shift isn't immediate once you pass the stone bridge. The path, down to its basic, look the same: a small road of clay, carved more by thousands of human feet that from actual work, next to a canal. Grass and trees all around. A lovely country picture.

But the flowers have stopped growing. Now, in spring, it's the first sign of change. The grass is unperturbed, of a just a little duller shade than before.

But after a few steps it becomes clear: it's the ivy. You can't even talk about trees anymore: the ivy has entirely covered their trunks, leaving out only the highest branches of some.

You could look at it poetically, and say that the trees look like they are wearing soft, woolen green coats. But there are no gems on those trees. The branches are bare. The trunks, what little of them can be seen, are grey or white. The only color that can be seen here is the uniform dark green of the ivy.

-

I have found a fallen tree today. Nothing surprising, the wind has blown unusually strong the past few days. Its roots were enveloped in ivy, but not the trunk. It was one of the few trees relatively untouched, and now it's gone.

Really, the path doesn't like outliers.

-

Last time, I had stopped my walk and turned back when I had found the fallen tree.

It is still there, but these walks are preparing me to a pilgrimage that will be even longer and harder, especially with a body like mine. Today, I have stepped over the tree and continued on the path.

There are trees on both sides of it, now, growing on the canal bank. Or at least, they used to grow.

The second fallen tree I find has actually fallen because of the ivy.

It was entirely covered by it, the wood under rotted, and then it was unable to substain itself. It was a rather big tree once. The ivy still prospers in its dull green, feeding on the decomposition.

I draw a deep breath and look around. The air is still. The canal has suffered from more than a year of drought, the water doesn't even have the strenght to run, stagnating in a dull, pale brown. No fish ever breaks the surface.

Every tree around me is covered in ivy, the trunks barely visible under the dull green coats. I can see what is left of them only by looking up: skeletrical branches, who haven't seen a gem in who knows how long. No bird ever perches on them.

These trees once had gems, once had deep vibrant green leaves and brighter, fresher ones; perhaps flowers, perhaps even fruits. Birds elected them for their nests, they raised their new generations among their branches.

And in the meantime, the ivy had started growing. It started hugging their roots, just a little, delicately as if not to disturb. And every year its hug was a little higher up the trunk, the weave of vines a little tighter. Nobody cared about it, about that hug becoming a chokehold. The trees suffucated slowly, losing more and more of their leaves and flowers every year; the birds, smart creatures as they are, deserted them long before they turned into the miserable husks I see now.

It is a terrible thing, death by ivy.

I can't help but think my presence is very befitting of this place. I turn around and slowly walk away.

-

Today I step over the tree cast down by ivy. It is bigger than the former, but still not too difficult to overstep, even with a body that always seem to malfunction somehow. My family keeps telling me that I should see more doctors, but I manage. I have managed insofar.

The scenery doesn't change. The still desolation of air, water and earth stays the same.

Eventually, I come across a third fallen tree. It is white, devoid of ivy. It is quite big and looks sturdy; I can't figure out what made it fell.

It had thick, long branches; getting past it will be more difficult than the other two. Fitting: I know that if I walk past it, I will have to continue on my pilgrimage, and I will not be able to go back, one way or the other.

I feel tired. I don't think my body can carry me for much more on the path.

I step forward, and walk over the third fallen tree.

-

The ivy starts creeping over me the moment I reach the other side. It crawls from the fallen trees, from the dry ground; it envelopes around my shoes.

I weakly shake it away. The ivy keeps coming.

It clings around my feet, starts climbing to my legs. I can no longer walk. Well, this is expected. I lose sensation to my lower body. Most would say I have to pull harder, I have to run; but my legs have been hurting for so long, it's good not to feel it anymore.

The ivy keeps climbing, around my waist, around my chest. As it should: it was the part that has been hurting for the longest time. The vines have begun poking at my flesh, growing new branches inside of it. Riight, it is too soft, to fragile. It has always been so, even if others have denied it; finally a confirmation.

The ivy envelopes my arms; I don't think it changes much, I never used them for anything worthwhile before. They can go. I hope that the ivy is quick to reach my head.

Must have heard my thoughts, damned plant! It takes the longest time even touching my neck. The pressure around my chest is really beginning to be painful, and this thing won't even let me choke properly!

It creeps, little by little; it covers my throat, but does not exercise too much pressure, again; I still feel suffucating, but I'm not, I'm left hanging to life. Move on, damnit! Take this disgusting breath away from me! I have never wanted anything more!

It creeps, little by little; it covers my cheeks, my eyes; now I can see nothing but the dull, dark green of theh ivy. My breath is haggard, every time more difficult, but it seems like it can't ever get difficult enough, it seems like I'll never know the peace. Little by little. The ivy has covered me entirely. I must be completely indistinguishble from any other tree trunks. Who know how many of them were people who failed the pilgrimage. Who knows how many others will pass by me.

I'm too tired to care. This thing I called my body is already rotting, feeding the parasitic plant. I have known it was rotting for a long time. And I keep being fully aware, and I will keep being for who knows how long, submerged by the monotonous, lifeless foliage.

It is a terrible thing, death by ivy.

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

👻

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕊𝕥𝕦𝕕𝕪

Send a symbol for a drabble/short piece of writing about my muse's ...👻 Loss they suffered.

"Mom! I'm home!"

He called over the cars outside, shutting the door to the busy street behind him only to be met with a strange silence. Robin cocked a brow and pulled off his jacket, laughing somewhat nervously. "Ma?" He exclaimed again, hanging his coat and scarf, sliding out of his shoes and placing them on the stand. He racked his brain for a moment, finally checking his pocketwatch to verify the time, 10:23am. Did they go out? Maybe food shopping...but didn't they just go last week?

Robin couldn't help the strange sinking feeling that was slowly growing in his stomach as he walked down the hall, peeking around to the living room and dining room. "Hellooo? Anyone home?" But once again he was met with silence, the only sound to answer him was the creaking under his socked feet. He sighed and shook his head, eventually coming towards the kitchen where he stopped midstep. He could hear the faucet still on and the swing door of the kitchen was open. Not by much but...it was pushed out maybe by 4 or so inches, a puddle of what he assumed to be water was peeking out from the crack.

He couldn't explain the way every hair follicle on his arm began to stand at attention when he opened the door slightly with a raised eyebrow, his gaze scanning to see no one there. Robin peered downward and saw the shattered glass, trailing it back to the hand that had been previously holding it.

"WREN?!"

Robin slammed the door open, nearly slipping on the water as he skidded down to his knees to pick up his little brother's head, checking for injuries before he saw the wide, blank eyes staring back at him. Wren's mouth hung open with foam on either side and his face was a sickly shade of greenish purple. Panic set in and he wiped his mouth, feeling for a pulse and setting him down on the floor, holding his brother's nose and breathing air into him. "Wren--Wren--" He gasped each time, listening to his heart before he pulled him up into his arms, now very aware of the distinct hissing sound that came from the stairwell leading down into the basement.

Terror turned into a vice grip.

"LINNY? MO-MOM?!" He shrieked, slipping slightly on the wet floor as he started to carry his brother down the hall, his heart pounding in his ears like a warning signal to get out. To run--but he couldn't listen. "DAD?!" He shrieked, kicking open the door to Linnet's room, the light from the hall pouring in as he scurried inside, laying Wren down and turned his sister over by her shoulder. Closed eyes and mouth. Her body was slack and he fell backwards, cupping his mouth in horror as he screamed, scrambling back only to smack his spine against the frame of the door. His voice turned harsh and gruff from the volume and he scrambled to his feet again, nearly smacking into the wall within his own confusion.

The wave of dizziness hit him as he stared back into his parent's room, a wave of cloudiness washing over him before he covered his mouth and began to violently cough into his palm. He pulled away his hand only for saliva to splatter onto the hardwood underneath him, the room beginning to spin as his lungs filled with more and more of the leaked toxin. He closed his eyes tight and listened for the sound of traffic, catching onto a carhorn blaring from outside and he followed it, feeling his way as his eyes began to burn. Eventually he peeked his bleary eyes open to find the door handle, shoving it open to trip down the concrete steps onto the sidewalk as he gasped for air.

He turned onto his side with a convulsive wheeze, raspy croaks filling his ears before it turned into wet gargling. Robin held his sides tightly as he spat up vomit, foam and saliva, tears riddling his vision. A few strangers approached him cautiously, one trying to give him water but he was in too much of a panic to take it, his cries swirled and merged with the traffic of the street.  

On a pole nearby, a crow took note of him.