"Find an anchor," the voice urgently whispered - desperate with despair.
It was the gunshot that triggered them to lose their balance.
"Find an anchor," the voice cracked with panic - ringing with fear.
The man with the gun triggered them to forget the present.
"Find an anchor," the voice shook with distress - breathing unevenly.
The solid black floor became a spiral of fractures with splattered blood.
"Find an anchor," the voice trembled with loss - heart pounding like glass breaking.
They collapsed to the ground, hyperventilating, out of control.
Strangers uttered, "Freak."
But they couldn't understand.
Bystanders awkwardly averted their eyes, ignoring them.
Some muttered, "Coward."
Spectators gasped and jumped into action.
They surrounded them - touching, poking, nagging, shaking, looking.
"Find an anchor," the voice whimpered - scared and alone.
Without thinking, they shoved and kicked and screamed with all of their might until they got out of the spectators' reach and ran.
"Find an anchor," the voice cried - vulnerable with fright.
They gasped for air, tears blurring their sight.
Where were they?
Why were they here?
Suddenly a familiar voice cut through the depths of horror.
"What happened?" It asked.
They fell to pieces, yet gentle and sturdy arms caught them.
They stayed like that for a while - them, weak with pain as the person held onto them with knowingness.
"I-I-I need to-to find an-an-anchor," They finally spoke, loathing themselves as they did.
It was stupid.
But the person knowingly took their hands and made a rectangle inches from their face.
They wiped their eyes and gradually focused on the picture captured through the rectangle.
"Thank you," They softly murmured once everything returned to the now.
"You're welcome," The familiar person responded, kissing their cheek.