claustrophobia.

isabelle had seen the word on the internet, in social media platforms, to those ranting on twitter, to memes on instagram, to quotes from tiktok.

it was such a deep word. it was odd and intriguing. a word that embodies a cage and entrapment. that feeling of hopelessness, of having nowhere else to go no matter how hard you push for an escape.

it was terrifying.

it does.

center stage. flashing lights. live recording cameras. deal or no deal. a million staring eyes. a blood red button to reveal her biggest secret, a microphone just for her.

she couldn't speak. she couldn't. she's suffocating. she's dead breathing shaking her head, like a scolded flawed daughter with a chicken heart swallowing words and pressure thrown at her.

don't look at me. don't look at me.

her chest hurts. it hurts. it fucking hurts that she's crying. she felt like she was on a shattered boat out at sea, the room swaying and adding to the nausea crashing over her as she slowly sinks and drowns.

more so that you're there.