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personification of adhd
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No matter the words, no matter the actions, it was not Brendan Wallace who did what he did.

He didn't know how long he was sitting there, trying to just imagine the whole thing away. No, there were no bodies. No, Antonio Russo was not coated on his shirt, that didn't happen. No, it couldn't have. Brendan wouldn't let it happen.

His fingers were not also scraping at his scalp, trying to get the image out of his head. A skull resembling play-doh. A face barely recognisable, how the hell did Brendan even know it was Tony?

What also did not happen? Brendan didn't hear footsteps.

He didn't jump to irrational and barely coherent conclusions in regards to those noises. He knew Liz Polanski to be dead a long time ago
and he was responsible
so they had no reason to follow him. Not a coward like him. But when you go through something so powerful, you don't think straight. Did they want revenge for being the first person to shoot at him? They had to have lied, didn't they? What was a couple of kids here and there? Nothing. He wasn't interesting. He wasn't notable. In regards to SOTF, he was nothing. A nobody.

Danya probably wanted to get rid of the waste of space himself. The footsteps echoed. All around him, they shook his brain.

'I...I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead...'




'If...if it's Danya's squad, and they've already taken care of...of Liz, then...'

'...then I can take them.'

'...those terrorists aren't gonna do this too me.'

'I wanna live.'

But it wasn't what it seemed. Hell, it was never going to be what it seemed.

It wasn't Brendan who scrambled forward towards the light in his bag.

It wasn't Brendan who reached for the gun.

It wasn't Brendan who screamed into the darkness 'Get away from me, get away from me!', or something that could have sounded like that.

It wasn't Brendan who, once, again, was bitten on the hand by a large, flying insect which he had no idea was even residing in Tony's body.

It wasn't Brendan who yelled with surprise as his hand unintentionally clasped itself on the trigger.

It wasn't Brendan who was thrown off balance by the recently fired Jericho in his hands.

It wasn't Brendan who hit his head on the smooth layer of rock on the wall behind him.

Because Brendan was holding his head from the ringing noise still invading his ears and the blow to the head which he didn't know where it came from, before he'd realised what happened.

...the hell, what just...

Then he heard the sound, the figure collapsing in the distance.






In several places across the world, people screamed.

Rosa Wallace's drawing room, in front of a wide-screen television, her bedroom for the past week.

Angela Pollock-Jones's bedroom, in front of her new computer, decorated with tacky stickers.

The drawing room of Steven Hunt's family, extended and all, in front of their own television.

And the bedroom of a girl, glued to her very own videophone, a girl he would never remember again.
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I can't sing but I wrote you a song

Wrong notes but the melody's so clear

When I'm lost, I'm still close to gold

cause I found my treasure in you
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Peripeteia · The Tunnels