Start Fiction:
It all was dark, not just the sky. Words fluttered about his mind in an even more senseless manner; thoughts were trite and worn. It was all comong together, after all these years.
The sensation of imprisionment was at fever pitch; Darryl was on the edge. He had felt the need to break out before, but these sensations were exponentially more intense. He began to scratch at his arms. His spine twitched, his shoulders spasmed, his legs were afire.
It wasn't physically painful, rather, it fed his brain which caused more anxiety, panic as Darryl moved about the room.
'Out,' he told himself as he rushed towards the patio doors. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his hands fell cold. 'Out!' he repeated to himself. His chest tightened; short, shallow breaths. Air; more air.
Darryl slammed the patio doors open and moved to the yard, slowing and hunching over with each step. 'Out.'
End Fiction.
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