He stood up, his joints popping like dry kindling. He walked to the mirror and didn’t recognize the person looking back. The eyes were too wide, the skin too pale, a physical manifestation of a mind that had spent too long "vomiting strings" of anxiety onto everyone who tried to get close. He reached out and touched the cold glass.
"Sacrifice the tortures," he muttered, the lyrics of an old song acting as a mantra. He didn't want to be a masterpiece of misery anymore. He didn't want the sweeping violins or the dramatic crescendos. He just wanted the silence to be quiet for once. Silverchair - Emotion Sickness
Should I expand on a or keep it as a shorter "vignette"? He stood up, his joints popping like dry kindling
He grabbed a jacket, stepped out into the hallway, and let the heavy door click shut behind him. The "emotion sickness" was still there, a dull ache in his chest, but as he took his first step toward the stairs, he decided—just for today—he was done with the rehearsal. If you'd like to refine this further, let me know: He reached out and touched the cold glass
The rain didn't fall; it hung in the air like a wet wool blanket, gray and suffocating. Inside the apartment, Elias sat on the edge of a mattress that felt more like a raft in a rising tide. The silence was the loudest thing in the room, vibrating with the ghost of a cello melody he couldn’t stop hearing.
