(no subject)

[bootleg_zero]

[He's out in the halls again, practicing- he hasn't learned a whole lot yet, of course, but he's got a borrowed gun, he knows how to make a proper fist, and there's plenty of dead wall space to work against. He's alternating between just smashing his fists against the wall and shooting at it, feeling the recoil sear up his arm and shoulder. There's a wild ferocity in his movements- untamed, clumsy, bordering on being out of control. All of the pent-up confusion and dangerous thoughts are pouring out at once.

He doesn't really realize he's yelling his thoughts aloud, either.]

I want OUT. I WANT OUT. I WANT. FUCKING. OUT!

[it's certainly not anything to do with the fact that these clumsy blows are landing on an imaginary face.]