Bittersweet Panic Novels & Stories

The flavors exploded in my mouth—rich, savory, and delicious. But as I swallowed, a sudden wave of panic washed over me. My throat felt tight, constricting around the food. I gasped, struggling to breathe as my chest tightened. “What’s happening?” I said, my eyes wide with fear. Dante leaned forward, a satisfactory look in his eyes. “Is it too much for you?” he asked mockingly. “I can’t breathe!” I choked out, the panic rising in my chest like a tidal wave.

Grace halted in her tracks, a jolt of panic spiraling through her. She was not afraid of her boss, at least not in the physical sense. She knew he would never lay a hand on her or fly into a manic rage. But she was afraid of his ability to sweet-talk her. The old man surely knew how to guilt-talk her. He was so good at it. All he had to do was call her the best secretary on earth and flash that adorable grandfather sort of smile, and she was a goner.

She’s 20 years old by now, surely she is a beautiful lady… same as my mother. My head is too occupied that I missed to see the traffic light changed into red, before I realized A sixteen-wheeler truck smash the left side of my car, like a lightning. I bounced many times and a blinding light covers me. There are people around me, a woman with a cherry lip and a figure of a man. I’ve been here before; I saw this before. That’s what my mind is telling me. I am trying to regain my consciousness as I try to figure out who is this woman holding me, or is there even a woman… am I dead? Who are they, they are speaking but my ears cannot hear. I try to be conscious but my eyes were heavy... I cannot

I took my cellphone out of my bag because I hadn't opened it since this morning. I received many notifications, friend requests and also some messages. I looked at first my notifications but it's just a comments and just reacts. Next is the friend request, there's many friend request but I don't want to accept because I'm lazy. Finally next is the messages. I was surprised by what I saw. My heartbeat suddenly quicked because of what I saw. His name appeared on my messenger and I didn't expect this to happen. I suddenly felt a thrill even though I had not yet read his message to me. Zack Erl

her voice echoed, high-pitched and filled with panic. For a brief moment, I felt weightless, suspended between life and death. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a painful reminder of what I was about to lose. The betrayal, the heartbreak, the anger—all of it faded away, replaced by a cold, numbing fear. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be how it ended.

I lie there, panting, shaking, tears streaming, the scream in my ears dies. And for just a second, everything is quiet. He gave me five minutes, I give myself five seconds. Five. To feel everything. The panic. The failure. The blood in my mouth and the sting in my knees and the raw, clawing grief that maybe this was it. That maybe there’s no outrunning a monster with a kingdom and a promise you never wanted. Four. The burn of betrayal. The shame of being dragged under by something you thought you could play. Three.

### Sincerely Panic spiked through my chest, cold and violent. I looked down at the half-eaten slice of bread in my hand, then at the crumbs lingering on my lips. My throat tightened as if the poison was already working its way through my bloodstream. Spit it out! my mind screamed. I shoved my fingers down my throat, gagging violently over the freezing stone floor, but my starved stomach refused to yield the only nourishment it had received in twenty-four hours. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

it irks me to the absolute core of my being. The agonizing anger leaves an incredibly bitter, metallic taste in my mouth. It is a taste that refuses to clear off, no matter how many times I tip my wrist and pour another heavy splash of expensive Pinot Noir down my throat. By the time the end credits start rolling, the green-and-black font text is entirely blurry, and the entire room is actively spinning like a carnival ride.

Now he seems immense, powerful despite his gray and puckered flesh, seeping wound, messy hospital gown. As the elevator rises, the enormity of the situation appears to fully sink into Trent. Any residual effect of the drugs has dissipated, and our tendrils sense his growing panic, sizzling and sour. Only strategic squirts of adrenaline and dopamine work to keep him in some semblance of working order. “I just don’t get what’s happening here,” he says. How many times do I need to explain it, dumbass?

As he passed Anne, she jumped to her feet. “Bruce?” she called out in a visibly concerned voice. Bruce looked at her and raised an eyebrow, and before he could say anything, Anne continued. “I know you won’t tell me, but I’ve never seen Mr. Walker like this… I’m just getting worried. People are talking about it; some are even asking to be transferred to another department.” Bruce looked down at his shoes and paused before answering. “Anne, I think what’s happening might be bad right now, but in the future, I believe things can get better.”