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His posture straightened after the painful deep breath that followed his statement, a deep breath that allowed him to temporarily alleviate the stress on his shoulders, as if talking had somehow made him lighter. He rubbed his face all over, as if to not show anything in detail for an extended length. He wanted his face blurry, unrecognizable, and easy to forget. The wrinkles of his face hurt to look at, each one seemed to tell a story of misery, and his old eyes watered with every action.
After the tranquil silence of his breath I could tell that something was wrong. He started rubbing his face more vigorously, like he had on skin that needed to be removed. He looked around the room, quickly analyzing his surroundings, took another deep breath, and began to shake. It seemed at first to be a nervous fit, but escalated into an all-out, full-body seizure. He fell to the floor foaming from the mouth.
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