3 December 2012
He was bundled up from head to toe as he staggered home against a winter wind. His thoughts were jumbled and confused to the point where his head hurt when he tried to arrange them. What the hell just happened? Walk. Bar. Drink. Then what? He remembered clearly the shatter of a window, the spatter of blood, the screaming of women and the confusion the bar was thrust into. He remembered, but it didn't make any sense. What he could not make heads or tails of was why he was walking home from the bar like any ordinary friday night instead of sitting in a hospital bed. He shouldn't be here, not after that thing had attacked.
The Walk Home • Opuss № I