Your throat begins to heave and plunge; you’d surely be sick if your stomach was anywhere to be found.

The angels in your ears whisper the most horrific secrets. You thank the gods you’re mad. If you weren’t – if others heard the vile things that reverberate inside your head, you’re certain that the world would end.

There’s a reason; there must be a reason for this. It can’t possibly always be nor could it always have been like this. But at this moment, this eternity in time, you can’t remember back to when you were whole and sane and safe. Malevolent fog shrouds all you see and cloaks the world in the dress of the dead.

Your mind pours out in salt-filled streams; the angels carry on with their black hymns, and your eyes glaze over. Lackluster and cold, you refuse to feel. You empty yourself to ease your fears and let those abhorrent angels say what they will. You are not there; you do not feel. With your breath caught in your throat, in this moment, you have forever been and will always be utterly alone.