Writing snippet: angst and tension
It’s a one-shot and I’m looking for what you think about pacing, characters and overall mood hope you enjoy
“God, I wish I never had spoke…” Calyx managed to choke out to himself. The lump in his throat was killing him silently, threatening to push out despite the deep breathing Calyx tried time and time over. He spiraled, Why did I do that? They probably think I’m insane— what is wrong with me?! He thought— no— he accused himself. And-a-and they saw that… Didn’t they? He stared down at his hands and sleeves soaked crimson to his elbows, some places dry and crusted. The metallic taste of iron broke fresh in his mouth as he but down on his tongue like a lifeline. The smell of iron and copper was even more choking to his already knotted throat. The only noise was the exhaust fan in the bathroom and his now quickening breathing. It hurt to breath, it hurt like inhaling glass shards, splitting and sharp in his lungs and throat. His heart pounded like it was going to come out and the body’s solution? Breathing like he’d ran miles and so fast, it was less than the time it took to blink. Calyx knew he had to slow down but that was impossible with the questions and flashbacks:
Yuri’s gentleness twisted to anger, his eyes hardening from the pale green to a green so dark, it strived to be called black. His dark brown hair, the milky pale skin going to apple red. Calyx hadn’t managed to register Yuri’s words before storming out.
Why? Why do I always overflow? Why can’t I just have some sense of restaint? Why don’t others’ words bother me? Demon, monster, evil, sinner and whatever else I’d taken pride in but Yuri— god, no. Drag me through hell and back, I’d sell my sanity— let Yuri be the first to understand— please…
Calyx’s knee gave out and he curled up into a ball like a cold kitten on the streets. The bathroom’s tiles were cold, ice cold but a small relief against his fired up skin. Tears rushed out like a waterfall, eyes burning as if lemons had been squirted in and nose stuffy. The edges of his blurred vision started going black, creeping in slow as a sloth. He curled in farther, his hands helplessly clutching his sleeves in a numbing grip, hands white as snow and cold as snow too. The torment was endless until the final, brutally stabbing, breath was taken and his conscious gave out to oblivion on the floor.
This is my testing piece to see how well I can write tension and angst. How did I do?