Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Whoosh.

Whooooooooooosh.

Wosh.

Wos-

I'm being slammed into the ground. Again. This isn't right. It just isn't. My parents wouldn't approve of this. But then again, they don't approve of anything.

The concrete is cold.

It just is. It's a light gray with little white flecks and dents. It's shiny. I've been slammed into it enough to know.

The light in this room is dark. Somehow it's a verve, a kind of light base. It reminds me of a stellar combination mixed with vintage flecks and bright pink and purples.

Somehow this room is pretty.

It just is.

Looking at the walls from the flecked ground, my vision is a haze. All colors are swirled, and it's as if I'm in a low opacity verve. 43%, maybe? I' m quite sure of one thing;

There is a friend waiting for me outside. Low growls are making my ears pound. I've never heard anything so wonderfully menacing.

There just isn't.