[This is easy. It's easy because he can just - rip at his eyes, at his face, tear away the stupid, solemn pleading way that he looked at him, holding a camera, zooming in like that would have any effect on an outcome. Just a speculator. A documentor. An observer.]
[Someone who dug up every skeleton in every closet, just because he could.]
[He feels his fingers pierce something soft and delicate. Tries to dig in, savagely, further, until he's abruptly interrupted - by the blunt traumatic force of something being driven against the side of his head.]
[Something shatters. The camera or his glasses, he can't say. Shards of glass drive into his face, slicing at his cheeks and his eyes, and he can't help the strangled cry that knocks him off his feet. It's too soon. It's too soon after he just died and he can't do this again except that he can because that's what he's always done - ]
[Unbalanced, he tries pawing the debris from his eyes.]
cw: more of the same
[Someone who dug up every skeleton in every closet, just because he could.]
[He feels his fingers pierce something soft and delicate. Tries to dig in, savagely, further, until he's abruptly interrupted - by the blunt traumatic force of something being driven against the side of his head.]
[Something shatters. The camera or his glasses, he can't say. Shards of glass drive into his face, slicing at his cheeks and his eyes, and he can't help the strangled cry that knocks him off his feet. It's too soon. It's too soon after he just died and he can't do this again except that he can because that's what he's always done - ]
[Unbalanced, he tries pawing the debris from his eyes.]