Half A Face

            Tired from a long night of playing in clubs Jono stumbled to his apartment. New York wasn't his favorite place to be. He preferred London. He unlocked to door and went on in. A girl was stretched across his bed, stripped to her bra and panties, surrounded by rose petals. This would be the one thing he did like about New York. "You're a groupie aren't you," he asked. She nodded. "My name is Gayle," she told him. "Cool. Lets do it," he said.

            Somewhere during the process of making love, Jono's chest began to hurt and burn. Every second the pain grew more intense. Finally he couldn't handle it any more. He backed away from her. "What's wrong," she mumbled. He felt like he was going to explode. And he did.

            Jono opened his eyes suddenly regaining consciousness. Wherever he was, it was really dark and small. He seemed to be in some kind of box, just big enough to hold him.

He pushed against the ceiling. Clumps of dirt fell on to him. He suddenly realized that he had been buried and panicked.

            Digging himself out of the ground was the single most traumatic thing he had ever experienced. It was raining on the surface. Then he saw the gravestone that had his name on it and the one beside it that had Gayle's name.