There’s something to be said for how your inner machinations appear more ‘cacophonous’ – discordant, disjointed, and deafening.
And I may conduct a symphony, sure, but the melody can unravel…the descant suddenly too loud, the harmonies tense and combative.
A chaos of its own.
Close, as usual, but not quite there.
I do not solely exist as one melody, one line, one sharp string holding vibrato.
How I wish that were true.
Surely, it would be far less demanding. Perhaps, enjoyable, even.
We are all too alike, tortured and encouraged by the orchestra.–
Mine? Mine is the orchestra. Strings, horns, drums, all crashing at once—every note demanding to be heard, every possibility burning itself into existence. There is no silence. There is no pause.
So, hello!
Not dead.
Forward your inquiries to @warhaunts — unless the case is PARTICULARLY captivating, then you have a maximum of 280 characters to convince me personally.
-SH
A gift and a curse. One the detective knows all too well.
Can you imagine how quiet it must be? …How empty and weightless? We pity the lacking, and yet remain ( on occasion ) microscopically jealous of their ignorance. So boring; so soothing.
His mind is a hurricane—spinning, gnawing, never still. Every thought clawing at the next, no silence, no peace. Genius is a prison when you can’t turn it off. The world sleeps, but his brain burns, restless and ruthless.
I expended all of my energy on 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑠 in a feeble attempt to rid myself of the shackles of restlessness… I don’t suppose a robe would suffice?
I’ve been 𝑜𝑢𝑡 in less.
No, 𝑦𝑒𝑎ℎ, I knew that one was you. … Bit glad that you didn’t touch the bedroom, though.
Go get properly dressed, yeah? We’ll decide where to go after you do.
Do you see the path I 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 into the carpet? It was either the kitchen, or I turn our bedroom inside out, and upside down.
I suppose, I could eat… Oh, 𝐺𝑜𝑑, am I dying?
Shit —— you’re desperate, aren’t you? And here I thought the kitchen was Mrs. Hudson’s work.
Why don’t we go out to have dinner? Get you out of the flat for a bit. Obviously, being cooped up in here isn’t helping your cause.
Miserable. I’ve finished the entire sudoku book you just got for me. I read the paper front to back, and then in reverse. I watched a reality drama!
John… 𝐼 𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑛.
And what am I meant to do? Conjure up a murder for you to solve? Fat chance —— it’s been quiet. And as much as you ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑒 quiet, there’s nothing to be done.