| 6:35a |
I was dead, but I got better.
'Sometimes... It just feels like the whole world is against you...'
[Nick thought to himself silently as he gazed into the mirror, carefully unwrapping bandages from around his chest.]
'... Other times, it actually is.'
[The man sighed softly as he carefully inspected his newly healed wounds. Ragged patches of light, smooth skin woven between patches of coarse hair, now serving only as a reminder of what he had survived. A small part of him wishes he hadn't. But in truth, he was just glad to be alive.
He reached over to where his clothes were laid out for him. The once finely cut and tailored, obscenely expensive suit was now little more than hastily stitched together rags, and is still carried faint traces of the bloodstains. It had been his favourite, but now it was worthless.
He wasn't happy about that.
Again, he gazed back into the mirror.
'Hmm... A shave, perhaps? ... Nah.'
He shook his head, before running a hand through his hair and straightening his collar. Giving his appearance a final once over.
He was unsure how long he's been recovering, or even how long he'd been travelling, but he was surprised to see the hickey mark on his neck still hadn't faded.
Still, he shrugged, only half caring, as he made his way towards the door. Pausing only briefly as he passed the medicine cabinet.
Taking a moment to check his surroundings, he quickly pocketed a few bottles of pills before finally leaving the room.
It was time to explore this strange new place properly.
He would probably get some food first. He was starving.
But more importantly... He needed a damn drink.] |