Chapter Text
At your desk, you hunched over your work, furiously scribbling and writing on paper. Your eyes stung from the strain you put them under, and your mind's inner voice had become incomprehensible. You had lost count of how long you stayed and sat at your desk, drawing with no break in sight.
When you lifted your head the world shifted unnaturally as you swayed with the movement. You felt disoriented and unsure of what to do with yourself. You couldn't gather your thoughts. Did you ever stop drawing? You must have gotten up at some point. You were only human. You needed to drink and eat just like everyone else.
Not wanting to dwell on your mental laps, you gathered yourself and peeked past the blinds of your window. It was pitch black outside with a cold you were sure would bite at your skin if you decided to go out. You noted your room mirrored the night's cold darkness with only your tiny table light to guide you.
You searched out into the night a second longer before that feeling came back to you. The worry and paranoia that plagued you outside of productive hours. You could hear your coworkers and your higher-ups pass through your thoughts. You felt the panic of unfinished creative projects and not meeting expectations. You also felt an inkling of rage at it all. They don't deserve the work you make. You brushed the thought off in favor of quelling the negative emotions that could only be remedied with more work.
If only you had looked at the street a little longer. Maybe you could have seen the danger coming towards your house.
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Time flew by yet again as you sketched and revised your work. You always lost yourself, too sucked into the passion of creation to pay your surrounding any mind. However, Your mind was snapped out of focus at the sound of your door jostling open.
As you put down the pen you felt your breath begin to shake as you tried to keep functioning. The paranoia of the unknown did not do wonders for your brain. Your thoughts spiraled to defense as you looked around your room. For someone who created for a living, your room lacked much decor. You landed on your desk of supplies. You had armed yourself with an exacto knife and a glass bottle of ink as you walked into the hallway.
You crept around the corner to see two robbers rummaging about. They knocked over objects and swiped what they deemed worthy. You internally cursed yourself for your overworked mind's decision to not find your phone FIRST. You really had overworked yourself.
As you were about to go back unnoticed you hesitated as your mind drifted to a feeling you often drowned out. A feeling of rage and violent tendencies as you saw the intruders break your belongings. Without your lucid mind's consent, you crept forward fueled by this blinding feeling.
You saw them and all you could see were your coworkers as they belittled your work. You could see your higher-ups as they pushed their work onto you. You could see your projects and artwork getting scraped for a 'new direction'.
You told yourself it was self-defense.
It happened much too fast and much too slow. You had gotten a good cut into one of the figures and then you were on the ground. They kicked and manhandled you in your struggle. You felt weak. Sitting at a desk would do that to you. Your limbs were heavy and your hands struggled to not cramp. You still had your rage and you clung to that as you were surrounded.
In the end, you managed to knock out one of the men. With your Indian ink, you bashed him over the head, allowing shards of glass and ink to fall onto the scene.
It was art in a way. This scene you had made. You soaked it in letting the fear wash away like it did when you created your work. Maybe you had finally pushed your mind too far.
As you turned your attention over to the last one standing you noted the gun. He seemed more frazzled than before. The scene had escalated to a point he probably wasn't expecting tonight.
By the look in his eyes, it seemed he had intended it as an empty threat. The gun shook in his hold as he commanded you to do as he said.
You hadn't expected him to accidentally shoot.