My eyes, they felt heavy, I was leaning forward supported by something behind me. I was sitting I could tell, my back hurt, it always did when I sat to long. My mouth seemed dry but it's probobly because my mouth was open and breathing was hard, heavy. Thinking was slow, train of thought scrambled, nothing made sense, and even if it did I dont remember a thing. It was like when you have a rough day and go to bed exhausted, you wake up not remembering the previous day...My hair felt matted and lay across my eyes, my head pounded and ribs ached. Something happened that I couldnt remember and I had the tiniest sick feeling I didnt want to remember.
I sat back and relized my harms were behind me, I jerked on them and to my dismay, they stayed firmly in place behind my back tied to the chair I sat in. I bit down in efforts to pull harder, and tasted the damp fibers of cloth between my teeth instead of hardened calcium. My stomach tightened, I was beginning to get anxious. I tried to lift my feet but found that they were tied to each leg of the chair. My heart took off at an erratic pace, sweat dewed up on my brow, my stomach was doing little terrified flips, and I knew even in the slow trance my mind was in, I wouldnt like what I opened my eyes to. And I couldnt be more right. Because as I lifted my my eye lids there sat not 5 feet from me, gun in hand, none other than Mark Fitzgerald smirking devilishly at me.
He saw my eyes opened and stood and made his way slowly to me, taking each step like a prize. I hoped that in a time like this i'd faint from fear. But I wouldnt be so lucky.
What did you think?