Pain.
He had a ferocious headache.
Dark.
...I'm supposed to be doing sothing.
Pause.
I don't wanna. Gonna take a sick day, Mom.
Blackness.
So tired.
...not supposed to sleep when you hit your head.
...did I hit my head?
He waited, but no one answered.
Did I hit my head?
Still no answer.
I guess they can't hear .
...I'm really uncomfortable.
Slowly, he beca aware that he was hanging by a couple of straps. He couldn't imagine why. Everything was dark.
Everything hurts. Why isn't soone coming?
Wait, was I in a car accident?
Drowning? No.
On fire? No.
Can breathe? I can, but it sucks.
Oh, good, I don't have to run away from the about-to-explode car like in a movie. No rush, then.
...this is really uncomfortable.
… I think I said that already.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not ant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Did I say that already?
...did I say what already?
What was I saying?
His thoughts drifted for a while.
Don't fall asleep! A part of his brain yelled.
Too loud, answered the rest.
Head feels like it's gonna explode. Too much pressure.
I'm hanging my head down. I should lift my head.
Stars, fireworks, flashbangs. Vomit.
A long pause.
Don't do that again.
Pause.
Where am I?
That question was much too hard, so he left it alone.
How do I make the explodey pressure in my head stop?
A vague notion of releasing a seat belt drifted through his mind.
Am I wearing a seat belt? I'm wearing a seat belt.
Undo the seat belt.
Wait.
What happens when I undo the seat belt?
I'm gonna fall.
No. Bad idea. Don't fall.
Hang onto sothing.
The seat belt.
Wrap it around my arm? No, my arm'll break, that'd hurt.
Just grip it.
Vomit.
Don't be a wuss. Grip it, and undo the seat belt.
"AAAAAAHHH! FUCK! FUUUCK!"
It hurt so bad he woke up.
It turned out he didn't have far to fall. There wasn't much headspace.
"Fucking shit fuck. Fucking dumbass. Fuck. FUCK this hurts!"
Nick was lying on sothing very hard and bumpy. Ow.
Trying to gather his wits, he thought, well at least I didn't—
Fireworks. Flashbangs. Pain. Vomit.
A few minutes later, he thought feebly –hit my head.
He gathered his strength for a minute.
Okay, that sucked ore deposits through a garden hose.
Don't. Move. Nick. You. Dumbass.
Even thinking that hard was physically painful, as was trying to rember the accident itself. And looking to the left, for that matter.
Did anybody get the number on that jersey? Or truck?
...Wait.
Where the fuck am I? Why is it pitch black?
What's the last thing I rember that doesn't hurt to rember?
Where was I? I was in the middle of sothing.
I was gathering elent 23.
Why was I gathering elent 23? Petra must have needed it for sothing...Petra!
Nick opened his mouth with difficulty, and whispered, "Petra?"
Silence.
Oh, this isn't good. This is very not good. This is the veryest notest goodest that ever happened. Thing.
Fuck, I have a concussion.
Nick decided to repeat that to himself for a while.
"I have a concussion. I have a concussion. I have a concussion. I have a concussion."
Finally, the thought didn't threaten to go away any more the mont he stopped thinking it.
Nick woke up.
Shit. Don't fall asleep, dumbass. He opened his mouth and enunciated carefully. "I have a concussion. Don't fall asleep, dumbass." He felt proud of making it through two whole sentences.
He tried to gather his strength. He was not in good shape.
Okay. What's going on?
I'm injured. I'm in Rockhunter, I think. It's totally dark, like utterly. Goths would swoon. "God damn, why does even thinking—that word—hurt? Makes no sense."
He took a breath. Is it my imagination, or is it getting stuffy in here?
Reviews
All reviews (0)