[Week 16, Day 5 | video]
[At first, all the video feed captures is darkness and the sound of heavy, shaky breathing. It's the type of breathing that happens when a very broken person on the verge of a breakdown and tries to calm their nerves on their own.
This person's attempts are clearly without effect. The rustling of fabric and the frantic scrambling of limbs is added to the breathing, following shortly by the slow, hesitant drag of feet across the grass.
After a moment of this, a footsteps halt and the Hitomi is finally drawn out of the stranger's pocket and into the light. It's turned over once, twice, then focuses in on the slightly haggard face of a fairly young man, desperately in need of a shave and a week's worth of sleep. His hands are shaking, jostling the image on the device, but it's clear just how lost this feels at this moment in time.
His mouth opens slightly as though he's about to speak, but he pauses, his eyes flitting from wrist to wrist and ankle to ankle. No wounds. He's supposed to be dead. This is one thing he's adamant about. He's supposed to be dead and bleeding on the floor of his apartment.]
How--?
[It's all he can get out. He's already breathless from fear and confusion, and his voice catches in his throat. Somehow, it's clear that this isn't some heroin-induced hallucination. He's alive, and he doesn't want to be.]
This person's attempts are clearly without effect. The rustling of fabric and the frantic scrambling of limbs is added to the breathing, following shortly by the slow, hesitant drag of feet across the grass.
After a moment of this, a footsteps halt and the Hitomi is finally drawn out of the stranger's pocket and into the light. It's turned over once, twice, then focuses in on the slightly haggard face of a fairly young man, desperately in need of a shave and a week's worth of sleep. His hands are shaking, jostling the image on the device, but it's clear just how lost this feels at this moment in time.
His mouth opens slightly as though he's about to speak, but he pauses, his eyes flitting from wrist to wrist and ankle to ankle. No wounds. He's supposed to be dead. This is one thing he's adamant about. He's supposed to be dead and bleeding on the floor of his apartment.]
How--?
[It's all he can get out. He's already breathless from fear and confusion, and his voice catches in his throat. Somehow, it's clear that this isn't some heroin-induced hallucination. He's alive, and he doesn't want to be.]