G e n o c i d e ; ;
life sucks, and then you die; i should be so lucky.

genocides breath came out in low, harsh pants as her muscles clenched painfully tight around her chest - and making the bitch moan in pain; the sense of her suffocating was strong, and she tried to force herself closer towards the house, one paw at a time, she told herself quietly. nobody is watching you struggle, but as the thought passed her mind, she began to panic - what if someone was out there, watching her now. just waiting to attack her. at once, a strange choking feeling covered her body - making her freeze and inhale sharply, until it was impossible to tell where one breath finished and another started. it was just a whirr of breaths, all joined together.

her paws dug into the ground as a wave of emotions crashed over her frame - fear, and pain being the pain ones. fear of dying as a choking grip seemed to tighten its hold round her heart, slowly cutting off the blood flow, and then pain, because she could no longer breathe. it was with a flicker of realization that genocide realized that, after almost two minutes of standing still, she could breathe normally again - and being the cool and calm bitch she was, she lowered her head and slunk towards the house, which probably would have made her feel more secure having a panic attack than outside. pushing open the door with her nose, and wrinkling it when the stale scent of rotting material caught her attention, genocide pushed herself through the small gap in the door, and into the darkened area.

it took her eyes just over a minute to adjust to the darkness; it was almost like a thin layer of fog had covered the room because it lay undisturbed for a long time. genocide sniffed the closest thing to her, and recoiled almost instantly. and it smelled like it had been left alone for a very long time. her head turned towards the door, which was allowing just a sliver of light to come through, it made her curious as to what else lay in the room; and so, standing up she moved over to the door, and pushed it with the crown of her head. the hinges creaked, and groaned, and then clicked as the door was pushed open just an inch. turning round, genocide padded back into the room, where she could finally see just how much dust and grime covered everything - lifting one paw up daintily, genocide swiped at the floor, drawing a curved line in the dust which had lain.

it was like genocide had never had a panic attack, but of course, there would always be the chance that she would have another one in a very short time. they seemed to be getting closer and closer together she'd noticed. they'd gone from months, to weeks, to days. and the time was decreasing even more. how long before there was no break in her panic attacks, genocide wondered bitterly as she gazed at her dust covered paw.

for 510 days,
genocides been crying out,
the name alistair to come and rescue her
with scars on memories which read:
bleh, kinda sucky post for me. but it's my first one on this site xD