The prompt list for these (if anyone in this beyond-dead fandom is interested) is on my tumblr, which has the same penname as I do on here. Sue me. I'm a simple soul. Enjoy and whatnot.
June 15th, 2018
Like a prickling wave of ants crawling over the skin of the victim, Hinamizawa Syndrome caused paranoia so strong that it was physically tangible. The smallest of deeds and actions took on worlds of horrific meanings.
Fear sat on the tongue, so thick you could choke on it.
Suspicion coiled throughout your body, so much that your muscles grew stiff with it.
Thoughts buzzed in your head, so malicious your brain rattled and tore itself apart on them.
Takano was more correct than she had ever guessed, to say that Hinamizawa Syndrome could shake the foundations of the world. Humans were so easily controlled, after all, by tiny shifts and fluctuations of the chemicals inside their brains.
What more horrific damage could a parasite actually do? Parasites in the digestive system could suck the life out of humans even in modern times, slowly but surely. One in the brain, however microscopic?
Disastrous.
It was like sand in the gears of a clock, and the timepieces in Hinamizawa were constantly wracking themselves to pieces, as their mechanisms meshed and tore apart in an endless regenerative cycle of death.
No cure. No preventative. No safety net.
Run, run far away. A warning seemed to whisper through the bucolic Japanese countryside, making neighbors veer away and tourists change their travel plans. This place is not for the likes of you. Like heroes in a grotesque fantasy, only those already condemned could dwell within this Ground Zero of cataclysmic infection; only those already at risk could breathe in the air thick with poison none could see and few could sense.
The tap of a childish footstep had ended so many lives, and ruined so many more. An extra beat following behind, an invisible presence hovering at the victim's pillow, all these were harbingers of so much worse to come.
You could only hear the apologies when it was too late, when you were already drowning in madness.
Hanyuu sometimes thought she presided over a graveyard of rusted gears scattered like pennies, hands stabbing the sky like fragile spears, and glass shattered sparkling over the ground like a rain of moonstones, glimmering and sharp as fractured needs.
So many broken clocks dwelled in Hinamizawa. They only waited for the final turn of the key to smash them into darkness.
10.58 PM, USA Central Time