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personification of adhd
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Were his mind in the right place, his eyes would have been clenched shut. In some strange other world, they probably were, but definitely not here. Brendan couldn't move, it was just impossible to tell his body what to do.

In fact...nothing was going through. He was still breathing, for sure, but no sound, no reflexive actions, not even a little twitch when his own gun was tote to his head. Those eyes just kept on staring into a little pocket of isolation a million miles away, and they didn't even blink when (to whoever's knowledge) someone started to yell threats against his life.

Even when that solo chorus was bound together with a cry of protest, he still didn't speak. He didn't speak, because he never wanted to say another word again as long as he lived. Because every single word that dripped out of his mouth wouldn't be the words of the shy, unworldly Australian boy who woke up dazed and confused like the rest of them over a week ago now.

No, the words that came out would be the words of a killer.

He'd done it. Danya was right all along, and Brendan was wrong. He'd sincerely hoped, out of the bottom leveled pits of his heart, that no one could honestly be reduced to this level, especially not him. Those false layers of paint were then stripped away with each passing breath, until the only thing left beneath was a black mound of matter, whatever used to be him.

It terrified him.

No matter which way you honey-coated it, the facts were facts. Brendan killed someone. Someone innocent, someone who wasn't a killer, or a psychopath, or a loony, or any level of barmy that registered on most sane levels of the human brain, just a scared guy, like him.

Millions of voices all screamed, only inside his head. They dug themselves down to his throat and tried to claw their way into his consciousness, trying to get him to say everything he was thinking.

You're a killer I didn't mean to what do I do what will they think I didn't mean to I tried to help him it makes it all better I didn't mean to who can trust me ever again what will they all thing I didn't mean to I was scared he wasn't speaking what was I supposed to think I didn't mean to why did I think I was important what are you going to do with me I'm scared I'm so scared right now what do I do I didn't mean to

You're a killer

I didn't mean to

I was scared

I'm so scared

What do I do

You're a killer...I didn't mean to, I was scared, I'm so scared, what do I do?

What do I do?

But still, nothing came out.

A hand grabbed all these desperate thoughts, and clenched onto them hard and fast.

Leave him alone.

He needs to figure this out for himself.

He needs all the time in the world.

If someone was watching, they could see him try to mouth a few words, if even only as weak as humanely possible. The lips shaped the meaning behind them, but they were only movements, with no sound following them.

'I didn't mean to...'

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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