08-06-2018, 10:19 PM
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with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair
Hazel had left the scene before Carolina had killed the prisoner; she knew it was going to get bad before she even fully understood what was going on. She had also hated the way everyone stared at her like she was crazy, or weak. (Which...she was. But. Regardless.) Hazel wasn't an idiot, she knew why the prisioner was there. She knew there had been a raid, and she knew that the Typhoon were a bunch of pirate dumbasses who needed a new lesson in playing nice. But Hazel also knew what it felt like to be completely helpless and terrified out of her mind.
It was an awful, chaotic feeling. A complete adrenaline rush that did nothing to aid the situation, the primal instinct to survive only making it worse. Every nerve in her body would scream for her to fight back, every fiber of her being yelling to do something other than shove herself in a corner and take it. Few people knew how hard it was to overcome a primal instinct that strong; few knew what it felt like to just sit there, overriding a chemical hormone until the only drive was to cower, knowing that it might be the only thing between a glass shard and her throat.
So being at someone else's complete and utter mercy? Not her thing.
Currently, Hazel was on her bed, hanging off the edge with her ukulele resting against her abdomen. She strummed aimlessly, subconsciously plucking out the tune of that French lullaby she kept hearing in her dreams. She had so much to think about - too much, really - but all she could think of was to blankly stare at the door, waiting for the rush of blood to her head to be too much. When the knock at her door came, Hazel just about jumped out of her skin, a pathetic yelp of surprise falling off her lips. She could nearly feel the zircon popping through the cement floor.
"I don't know who you are, but you scared the crap out of me." She all but wheezed, sitting up and waiting for the head rush to pass before calling: "It's open!"
It was an awful, chaotic feeling. A complete adrenaline rush that did nothing to aid the situation, the primal instinct to survive only making it worse. Every nerve in her body would scream for her to fight back, every fiber of her being yelling to do something other than shove herself in a corner and take it. Few people knew how hard it was to overcome a primal instinct that strong; few knew what it felt like to just sit there, overriding a chemical hormone until the only drive was to cower, knowing that it might be the only thing between a glass shard and her throat.
So being at someone else's complete and utter mercy? Not her thing.
Currently, Hazel was on her bed, hanging off the edge with her ukulele resting against her abdomen. She strummed aimlessly, subconsciously plucking out the tune of that French lullaby she kept hearing in her dreams. She had so much to think about - too much, really - but all she could think of was to blankly stare at the door, waiting for the rush of blood to her head to be too much. When the knock at her door came, Hazel just about jumped out of her skin, a pathetic yelp of surprise falling off her lips. She could nearly feel the zircon popping through the cement floor.
"I don't know who you are, but you scared the crap out of me." She all but wheezed, sitting up and waiting for the head rush to pass before calling: "It's open!"
© MADI
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WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better