[He's on his hands and knees, sweeping through papers and plastic wrappers, his heart pounding at his temples. There's nothing edible in these things. Nothing even useful.
Frustration builds like a pressure in his chest, but this time he remembers he has to be quiet. Though that doesn't keep him from throwing a handful of wrappers like weird confetti.]
No.
[The urge to throw another temper tantrum is so bad it hurts. He can't even breathe.]
no subject
Frustration builds like a pressure in his chest, but this time he remembers he has to be quiet. Though that doesn't keep him from throwing a handful of wrappers like weird confetti.]
No.
[The urge to throw another temper tantrum is so bad it hurts. He can't even breathe.]
This's stupid. We're not gonna find anything.