The FIGMENT OF DOOM
I woke up in a gutter, face down in a pool of muck. It was a miracle I hadn’t drowned. I spit out some sludge, coughed, slowly sat up and considered the situation.
It was raining, and I was soaked, freezing and aching all over, but especially my head and feet hurt. It was dark, and I was on some deserted city street I didn’t recognize. The only light came from a feeble street lamp that projected an icy cone of illumination in the rainy mist across the street.
Oh yeah, I had absolutely no idea how I got there or even who I was. My pockets were empty. I was wearing cowboy boots. That was odd. They were also about two sizes too small. I guess that explained the aching feet. As a matter of fact, the torn jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket all seemed too small. Either I had spent so much time in this rainstorm my clothes had shrunk, or I was a man with a serious wardrobe problem.
Over the soft rain sizzle I heard footsteps. I stood up and felt a blazing pain in my head. I made a note to miss the gutter mud puddle if I fell back down, but managed to stay on my feet. Okay, this was a headache the size of New Hampshire. Why, did I think that? Was I from New Hampshire? Had I ever been to New Hampshire? This really sucked.
I remembered the footsteps and tried to focus. Yeah, across the street was a man standing under the light. Trench coat, some kind of hat. He looked like somebody out of a Mickey Spillane novel. He gave me a quick glance and pulled something out of his coat.
Uh oh. If I had some kind of lightning quick super power reflexes in my mysterious past, they better kick in now. Yep, it looked like he had a gun. As I stood there dumbly, he pointed the gun at the street light. The was a soft popping sound, then a crack and the light flickered off.
Damn it was dark. Through my mental fog, I dimly realized that I should probably do something since I happened to be alone on a dark deserted street in a no doubt less than upscale part of town with a gun toting thug taking pot shots at city property.
Suddenly a long, low black car roared down the street, headlights blazing. As if I could use another gallon or so of H20, it splashed me good as it screeched to a stop in front of me. The suicide door was thrown open, and I could barely make out a dark figure behind the wheel. Over the gurgling engine I heard the driver speak. A woman’s voice. Not urgent. Not calm. If anything, she sounded a tad annoyed. “If you want to find the key, get in.”
I didn’t know jack about any key, but given the choice of getting in or hanging around for Mr. Trench Coat’s target practice, I got in the car. Besides, I could barely walk in these miniature boots, much less run. The woman jammed the car into gear, and we took off...
It was raining, and I was soaked, freezing and aching all over, but especially my head and feet hurt. It was dark, and I was on some deserted city street I didn’t recognize. The only light came from a feeble street lamp that projected an icy cone of illumination in the rainy mist across the street.
Oh yeah, I had absolutely no idea how I got there or even who I was. My pockets were empty. I was wearing cowboy boots. That was odd. They were also about two sizes too small. I guess that explained the aching feet. As a matter of fact, the torn jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket all seemed too small. Either I had spent so much time in this rainstorm my clothes had shrunk, or I was a man with a serious wardrobe problem.
Over the soft rain sizzle I heard footsteps. I stood up and felt a blazing pain in my head. I made a note to miss the gutter mud puddle if I fell back down, but managed to stay on my feet. Okay, this was a headache the size of New Hampshire. Why, did I think that? Was I from New Hampshire? Had I ever been to New Hampshire? This really sucked.
I remembered the footsteps and tried to focus. Yeah, across the street was a man standing under the light. Trench coat, some kind of hat. He looked like somebody out of a Mickey Spillane novel. He gave me a quick glance and pulled something out of his coat.
Uh oh. If I had some kind of lightning quick super power reflexes in my mysterious past, they better kick in now. Yep, it looked like he had a gun. As I stood there dumbly, he pointed the gun at the street light. The was a soft popping sound, then a crack and the light flickered off.
Damn it was dark. Through my mental fog, I dimly realized that I should probably do something since I happened to be alone on a dark deserted street in a no doubt less than upscale part of town with a gun toting thug taking pot shots at city property.
Suddenly a long, low black car roared down the street, headlights blazing. As if I could use another gallon or so of H20, it splashed me good as it screeched to a stop in front of me. The suicide door was thrown open, and I could barely make out a dark figure behind the wheel. Over the gurgling engine I heard the driver speak. A woman’s voice. Not urgent. Not calm. If anything, she sounded a tad annoyed. “If you want to find the key, get in.”
I didn’t know jack about any key, but given the choice of getting in or hanging around for Mr. Trench Coat’s target practice, I got in the car. Besides, I could barely walk in these miniature boots, much less run. The woman jammed the car into gear, and we took off...
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Great start. You certainly have me curious.
ReplyDeleteThanks, M Pax!
ReplyDelete