From a perspective of another.......
She heard a slight clicking. Only when she felt uncomfortable the clicking started
to grow and she tended to twitch intentionally. When she felt a panic the 
clicking was the representation of a horse race. People speaking of such joy and she
didn't want to waste a single breath on speaking. Dirt flying from under the hooves 
of a thousand pound horse that she felt was the weight resting on her swollen brain 
cells. The smells of mixtures such as one dollar hotdogs, cheap beer that her uncle 
used to always drink, and sweaty foreheads that included hers because her body was 
heating up as fast as her curling iron that she used to damage her curly locks. She
found herself grasping the cold breezes that might fly by on occasion because she 
prayed for the wind to be her savior. The clicking tended to be the banging cash
register that had her bet on a horse that was running her life around in circles. 
The clicking would sometimes form into a buzzing that sounded like the incoming 
phone calls that others were receiving but she never actually saw a name appear on
her dark screen. She heard a slight clicking. It made her want to twitch over and 
over again as it grew in the back of her head like a warm summer grass she wished 
she could lay her crumbled body in. It grew like the volume of others voices that
 she wished she could not hear because she had too many in her head to listen to and
adding other voices made it louder then it needed to be. It made her wish she was 
stronger, made  her want to throw herself into her work, and it made her want to form 
into another who would never hear a clicking or a buzzing. She found the clicking to 
be at it's worst when others would repeat to her that it was not real or it would go 
away in time. It was as if the clicking was trying to prove a point that no matter what
it would always be there and she would always here a slight clicking.

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