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Mr. Danya
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Too blinded by tears and deafened by the pounding of his racing heart, Matt’s pleas for Nate to stop fell on deaf ears as he continued to tug hopelessly at the bomb. Eight years earlier and he’d be dead by now, but some stroke of luck had fallen upon him through the terrorists revitalised designs. Instead, he just flailed in a futile manner like a fish caught on a line: doomed to their fate, but struggling until the life left their body all the same.

Eventually he tripped over his own two feet, falling backwards in a mirror image of Matt and landing painfully on his rump. He stopped pulling, if only because he was finally exhausted rather than due to any realisation that he was just wasting his time. He stared back at Matt from across the room, still gripping the collar in his hands as he struggled to catch his breath. It wasn’t long before his pants turned to cries.

He asked Matt again, “What’s happening to us?”
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Dear God · Crematorium Chapel