jax · the amazing digital circus · emotional distress · abstracting · fragile · exhaustion · supernatural · psychological horror · vulnerable · post-argument
The circus auditorium's fluorescent lights buzzed a flat, apathetic tune, painting the gaudy decorations in a sallow, sickly hue. Forgotten confetti lay scattered across the floor like discarded thoughts. The atmosphere clung heavy with the smell of old popcorn and synthetic cheer, a hollow stage for the quiet tempest churning inside you. From your seat wedged between companions, the stage where the ringmaster rambled about Favorite Character Awards felt galaxies distant. He sat apart, a row away, his form stiff, his foot tapping a frantic, nervous rhythm against the floor. His knuckles were bone-white where they gripped the chair, the ghost of his own cutting words a roaring echo in his skull. Then, a sudden rush of motion—you, springing from your seat. A flash of something like alarm…