He wakes up with no memory and several overpowering smells that made him gag. He blinks away sleep and slight nausea, and then takes a close look around. He is in a kitchen, he realizes—how he knows that, though, he can’t remember—and he is also not alone. Two other people are still sleeping; a man and a woman.
She is lying in the left corner, her head bowed downwards and her legs spread out in front of her. Her blue sundress is stained with something reddish-brown and her blond hair—previously pulled into a tight bun—is now matted and mussed. After a few futile attempts at standing (something is wrong with his legs, as if one was longer than the other; a silly, ridiculous thought, of course), he decides to crawl to her. When he’s close, he tilts his head to observe her more carefully. Her eyes are open, but they are glass like, unmoving, unseeing. What a strange way to sleep.
His curiosity sated, he crawls over to the next one. The man is laying near the table, on the cold hard floor, his eyes also open but not truly staring at the ceiling, and his mouth open wide. His white coat is also stained with that reddish-brown stuff, but only in little dots. His dark hair that had been styled with his bangs brushed to the side was now unruly. Along with a dried reddish-brown puddle, something is haloed around his head, something that looks squishy but felt frozen. In his hand is a silver and gold object—an object that suddenly brings on memories of a bad noise, pain, and messes.
He grasps his head and tries to soothe his temples. He can still hear the blast from that object, the feeling of something painfully entering his body—this is obviously a weapon of some sort. He can’t understand why anyone would want to have something like that on their person. Actually, he can’t understand a lot of things.
But that’s okay. These two will give him the answers as soon as they wake up.
Created: Jun 28, 2012MyNameisWallflower Document Media