[ Weren’t you walking up the steps to get into the building just a second ago? Now you’re clearly in a basement room—a makeshift hospital, by the looks of it. There are several cots lined up against the walls, their sheets turned down as if waiting for someone to occupy them. It’s obvious that someone had been trying to keep the place clean until recently, but now… Now there are medical supplies scattered everywhere, and worst of all, there are dead kids lying on the floor, lined up in rows, like tiny fallen soldiers. Their eyes stare sightlessly at the ceiling. A sick sense of acknowledgment hits you—these kids died because of something you did. At the same time, you don’t necessarily feel guilty. It’s just the truth. ]
[This is when she can't take it anymore. Is this what a panic attack feels like? It's probably what a panic attack feels like. Going to be looking for the exit. She's done]
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Re: perdido beach
let's go]
Re: perdido beach
Re: perdido beach
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Re: perdido beach
Re: perdido beach