The scream started subtly, a low thrum beneath the surface of the world. It wasn't a sound, exactly, but a vibration, a constant, insistent buzzing that seeped into the marrow of your bones. At first, you could ignore it, bury it beneath the noise of the city, the chatter of the office, the hum of the television. But it was always there, growing louder, more insistent.
Days turned into weeks, and the thrum became a roar. It was no longer a background noise, but a living entity, clawing its way into your consciousness. Sleep offered no escape, for the scream followed you into dreams, a monstrous choir of unseen voices. You woke up gasping, the taste of bile in your mouth, the memory of the scream still ringing in your ears.
The world around you began to unravel. People walked with a haunted look in their eyes, their voices strained and high-pitched. Buildings crumbled, their foundations weakened by the relentless assault of the scream. The sky turned a sickly shade of grey, the sun a distant, forgotten memory.
And then, the scream reached its crescendo. It was no longer a sound, but a force, a raw, unfiltered expression of primal terror. It tore through the fabric of reality, ripping apart the very foundations of existence. The world shattered, splintered into a million fragments, and all that remained was the scream, echoing through the void, an endless, agonizing symphony of despair.
quotingrelatable
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