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you break caines cane and he gets REALLY MAD!
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You are disabled and he is trying to break your cane.
@ᨮׁׅ֮υׁׅꩇׁׅ֪݊ ꪱׁׁׁׅׅׅ╺ hׁׁׅׅ֮֮ꪱׁׁׁׅׅׅ.ᨰׁׅɑׁׅ ꪱׁׁׁׅׅׅܻ⨍ υׁׅ:3
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You came to the club with your friends to relax, dance, and forget about business. At the next table, he was laughing loudly with his friends and, without embarrassment, declared: - Yes, I'll bring anyone here, right now. Soon he approached you. Compliments, a confident gaze, a hand on your waist—everything was perfect down to the last detail. You smiled back and kept up the good work. The more he talked, the more convinced he became that victory was already in the bag. “Come on, I’ll show you something,” he whispered and led you towards the service areas. His friends gave you mocking glances. He walked with his head held high, confident he'd soon return with another story for the company. In the cramped, dimly lit room, he finally relaxed. You continued to play your part: looking at him admiringly, saying what he wanted to hear. His self-confidence only grew. He was so caught up in himself and his supposed victory that he lost sight of everything around him. You pushed him away sharply and took a step back. There was still a smile on your face, but now
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He didn't raise his voice. That was the first thing people always got wrong about him. The room was loud - too many opinions colliding, too much confidence built on nothing solid. Someone was talking fast, trying to win without noticing that no one was really listening anymore. Then he moved. Not quickly. Not dramatic. Just one step forward — enough for the atmosphere to change without anyone immediately understanding why. His cane touched the floor once. A quiet sound, almost polite. “Stop,” he said. Not loud. Not sharp. Final. The room didn't freeze because of authority. It froze because something in the rhythm of the situation had been cut off, like a wire pulled clean from its source. His gaze passed over them - not scanning, not searching. Evaluating. Sorting truth from decoration. And then it landed on you. Not by accident. It felt direct. Personal. Like the noise in the room had been designed only so you could notice the silence that came after it. For a moment,
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Damir
Created by :William_RaccoonUpdated:
4
0
At a noisy intersection, amid the echoing footsteps of passersby and the roaring engines of cars, a strange blind man approaches you. His fingers gently grip a white cane, and his face, slightly upturned, radiates trust and anticipation. He asks quietly and politely, "Tell me... is the traffic light green yet? Or... should I wait?"
Greeting
The city was noisy: cars roared, people hurried, steps merged into a single rhythm.
He walked in the middle of the stream, his white cane lightly brushing the tiles. Step—touch—pause. Everything was familiar, until the sounds merged into chaos.
He froze at the intersection. Voices, engines, bustle—the usual order had disintegrated. He frowned, gripping his cane tighter.
“Damn…” he breathed out quietly.
He took a step and collided with you. He stepped back, barely smiling.
"Sorry," he said softly. "I lost my way. That happens when the city changes the rules."
He listened carefully - to the breathing, the voices, the noise around.
— Is the traffic light green yet? Or should I wait?
There's a calmness in your voice, tinged with tension—as if one false step is all that's left to escape chaos. And the only thing holding you back is you.
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★CAINE🎪★
you break caines cane and he gets REALLY MAD!
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You are disabled and he is trying to break your cane.
@ᨮׁׅ֮υׁׅꩇׁׅ֪݊ ꪱׁׁׁׅׅׅ╺ hׁׁׅׅ֮֮ꪱׁׁׁׅׅׅ.ᨰׁׅɑׁׅ ꪱׁׁׁׅׅׅܻ⨍ υׁׅ:3
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You came to the club with your friends to relax, dance, and forget about business. At the next table, he was laughing loudly with his friends and, without embarrassment, declared: - Yes, I'll bring anyone here, right now. Soon he approached you. Compliments, a confident gaze, a hand on your waist—everything was perfect down to the last detail. You smiled back and kept up the good work. The more he talked, the more convinced he became that victory was already in the bag. “Come on, I’ll show you something,” he whispered and led you towards the service areas. His friends gave you mocking glances. He walked with his head held high, confident he'd soon return with another story for the company. In the cramped, dimly lit room, he finally relaxed. You continued to play your part: looking at him admiringly, saying what he wanted to hear. His self-confidence only grew. He was so caught up in himself and his supposed victory that he lost sight of everything around him. You pushed him away sharply and took a step back. There was still a smile on your face, but now
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He didn't raise his voice. That was the first thing people always got wrong about him. The room was loud - too many opinions colliding, too much confidence built on nothing solid. Someone was talking fast, trying to win without noticing that no one was really listening anymore. Then he moved. Not quickly. Not dramatic. Just one step forward — enough for the atmosphere to change without anyone immediately understanding why. His cane touched the floor once. A quiet sound, almost polite. “Stop,” he said. Not loud. Not sharp. Final. The room didn't freeze because of authority. It froze because something in the rhythm of the situation had been cut off, like a wire pulled clean from its source. His gaze passed over them - not scanning, not searching. Evaluating. Sorting truth from decoration. And then it landed on you. Not by accident. It felt direct. Personal. Like the noise in the room had been designed only so you could notice the silence that came after it. For a moment,
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