Falling, and falling, and falling.
Didn't know where I was falling.
I was falling nonetheless.
Reality swarmed me, smothering me, drowning me completely. My mind was a mess. Almost as if a tsunami had washed over it, rendering me impotent inside my own body.
"Damon?" He was calling, again. Always far off in the distance. I knew he'd come closer, though. Because they always came closer.
I blinked, but it didn't make clear the blur of colours that was Mr Farrington. I could feel myself trembling and I kept blinking to make the tears go away, I couldn't move my hands to my eyes to wipe them, though. Cement again. Cement and quicksand, like always.
I felt something soft pulling underneath my eyes, he had got a tissue and was drying my tears.
"Damon," he repeated, in the gentlest voice I think I'd ever heard, although it still seemed to somehow spur on the apocalypse that was slowly but surely destroying my mind. I could see him staring at me, I mean, really staring, straight into my dark eyes, trying to find something, anything, some form of response.
If only he could see the tsunamis.