Mounting stress. The noise is a cloying, overwhelming force dragging us both further and further down into the seething darkness of desperation. No rest for the weary. Literally. But there is still food. And an Angel. Though even my Angel is suffering too. I need to work harder to get us out of this quagmire. And… as I type… my bones shake, my flesh aches, my belongings rattle from the incessant sharp violent door slamming. Sometimes, it occurs so frequently in dramatic sequence, she must be doing it deliberately? Now everyone else on the floor is following suit. I can hear her footsteps now, pounding the hallway in those flipflops. Yes, flipflops can pack a good wallop on a carpeted floor too!
Grappling with and at the mercy of ignorant fools who have no shred of consideration or empathy for people of a different ilk, a gentler, peace loving, quiet seeking genre, so different from their brutality and turbulence.
I feel myself falling. But yet determined to keep going, and get ourselves out of this barbaric disorder, on constant high anxiety mode, the white noise of fear an aura wrapped around my head, as my brain silently screams while counting the slamming whamming crashing jolts… By now, the third paragraph here, there have been 10…
violent sonic assault
for the light
at the bottom
of the abyss