Chaos is a good planting soil
It's tense, the warmth here drained out slowly but surely as conflict does to joy. There are no more warm greetings in the mornings. No more casual interactions. She glowers and barely musters a response to any words said to her. I stay mute behind a neutral mask and am haunted by the taste of blood. One wrong move, one wrong word, and my mind tells me the taste will be real. "Say nothing, do nothing, become nothing. Nothing cannot be hit. Cannot be harmed. Cannot even be struck at." It's been a long time since I've had to rely on these mechanisms to keep harm to a minimum. Keep a face like a mask that can only be interpreted by its viewer, but never let it appear anything but neutral. Eyes down. Breathe quietly. Step silently. Do not ask anything unless it is critical. Do not speak, you will say the wrong thing. If you leave, you are weak. If you stay you are holding a shield that withers by the day. By the hour. Under the constant assault. Of a man who'...