Thud. Thud. Thud.

Something is lurking in the background. A tangible shadow of sorts; one that breathes, one whose heartbeats echo.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

It’s alive.

But barely.

The thuds are not rhythmical; they are sporadic, leaving you weary and apprehensive of when they will thud again, hoping that they won’t, but wanting them to.

Confusing you.

Thud. Thud.

The breathing is harder, its unevenness daunting, its tickles when it meets your skin disturbing, unnerving.

It’s alive, but barely.

You feel compassion towards this formless being; empathy.

You wish it health, you hope its thuds find a rhythm, its breathing deepen and come to life.

It’s broken.

And you’re broken.

And you wish everything that is ever this broken will heal, no matter how sinister it may be.