AN:: written for a "lost" challenge. Feedback is loved and adored. Like chocolate with caramel and little mint sprinkles.
I think I might be lost.
I woke up here, wherever here is, to find myself crumpled on the floor. I don't think anything is broken, except for the hockey stick that seems to be in my hand. Who carries around the business end of a hockey stick? Apparently, I do. I wonder what that says about me.
Oh, yeah, and did I mention that I have no idea who I am? Because I don't. I don't know why I'm here, and I don't know where I'm heading. I think that I had a friend with me when I started out. I remember a short, strong-willed woman with wavy brown hair and playful brown eyes, and flirting. There was definitely flirting. I wonder who she is. Why is she not here? Why does my chest hurt so much when I try to remember?
It seems to me that this woman is a key to who I am. I close my eyes and try to dig a little deeper.
Flashes of her play in my head:
We're in a bar laughing together... She's in my apartment looking tired and confused and wearing flannel ... We're standing in a street kissing ... We're in a large room fighting back to back ...
That last one feels closer. I concentrate on it.
We're running down a corridor, and I feel like I've been running for days. Murphy (her name is Murphy!) is just a step behind me firing her weapon into the darkness. The only light around us is the top of the hockey stick in my hands. Weird. And then things get a little less straightforward ...
We're running again. There's a very large shape bounding after us and roaring. It leaps for us, and ...
Her voice. I hear her voice. She's shouting to me, "Harry! Get down!" as her gun fires repeatedly into the darkness. (She called me Harry. Good to know.) My mental replay shakes, slips, and falls, and I think this must be where I hit my head. The light goes out ...
Darkness...
I think we must be huddled against a wall. I feel her head on my chest in the darkness, her hair shifts when I exhale. Her hand is over my heart, and it comforts me. I fumble to find her free hand, and find more wetness than expected. Blood. Is it mine? Is it hers? ...
My head is pounding, and my heart is racing. I'm leaning over Murphy and searching for a heartbeat, a breath, anything. I don't find them. She's so cold. And I'm screaming her name...
Something is coming. A fifteen foot lump of slimy, panting, rock-monster is lumbering towards me, probably following the sounds of my frenzied (and failed) attempts to call Murphy back to me. Nothing we had thrown at this thing had even dented it. It just kept coming. I do the only thing I can. I stand up and face the demon armed with nothing but the shards of my staff and pure agonized rage. There is light. So much light. And we are both hurled away...
Darkness...
I'm pretty sure that's how I got here. Slumped up against a wall in a dark tunnel underneath the city. I don't know if there will be anybody looking for me. I know the police department will be looking for her. I know that if I focus my will, I can bring enough light to see by, but I know what I will find.
I think I liked it better when I was lost.
