Blue Tears From the Bluer Box
Tisha sighed, staring at the ceiling in the dark.
The night bled through day, like it always does, but it never feels natural.
In the dark. Silent. Alone.
Tisha stands up, pacing back and forth. It was hard to translate her racing thoughts into anything more than the babble of distorted yet traumatic memories. She puts her hands on the sides of her box and groans, her pace quickening.
Red eyes, dripping black liquids, tears, yelling, hiding…If it didn’t make her so nervous, Tisha would be a good person for writing an autobiography of what happened.
Tisha glances around once every few seconds, checking her surroundings.
How many other toons were like this?
Nothing lulled her racing mind, her heart starting to match the speed of her thoughts.
It felt so hopeless to try and shut the mind up to avail each time, and tears hit the floor like scattered raindrops from a thin cloud.
It wasn’t easy to doubt that this wasn’t fixable.
It wasn’t easy to doubt that she was ‘incurable.’
Tisha curled up on the floor and sobbed quietly for a bit, the feeling of being surrounded by twisteds again only serving to push out more tears.
The night wasn’t silent anymore, at least. Instead, the sounds of quiet hics shows through the quiet of nighttime like cracks on a screen.
Tisha wished she wasn’t like this.