Sketchbook of a Wayward Seer: Chapter 36
O.O.A.
Cottonmouth.
Sour on my tongue. My teeth stuck to the insides of my lips.
Sand in my eyes.
Gray murk clouding my vision.
Pain in my head. But the head pain wasn’t the worst.
My left shoulder. That was the worst.
Bone-on-bone kind of pain.
My body screaming at me because something wasn’t in the right place to heal.
I tried to tip my head, wanting to see the damage, and found color in the lights that pinched pain all the way in the backs of my eyes.
Two pale shapes. One tiny red point.
Not…
Not good, Ella.
A silhouette paced between the pale lights.
Much…
Much wasn’t the right word, but my brain was too muddy to find the one I wanted.
The silhouette stopped and leaned down to stare at one of the lights, fussing with something, then going back to pacing again.
Big?
…no.
Very!
That was the word I needed.
Very not good, Ella.
Very, very not good.
Shoulder, Ella.
Triage—ooh, that’s a big word…
Fuck.
Where the fuck?
That definitely mattered.
The silhouette stopped at the same light. Hunched to see again, fussed again, paced again.
Like a beast stalking in front of the mouth of their cave, protecting their kill.
Did beasts do that?
Did that make me the kill?
Priorities, Ella.
Focus, Ella.
First - Dying of injuries?
Second - Location?
Third - Who’s Pacey?
Five - Where knife?
Six - Stabby Pacey.
Yeah.
Good plan.
Great work.
I put more oomph into trying to turn my head and managed enough of a loll to see my blurry arm.
It was fine.
All there.
No gushy blood.
But at a funny angle.
Not broken, but tied to—what the fuck was I tied to?
Aww man.
The thought came out my mouth.
The silhouette spun toward me then grabbed something from beside the pale light they didn’t like best.
They stayed a silhouette as they came toward me—featureless, soundless—and shoved fire into the right side of my ass.
“Fuck off.” I think I actually managed to say the words before everything went dark.