After pain, after blood… what's left of you?
Apparently, sarcasm and back pain.
****
Andrew stood in the silence.
Not a silence of peace, but the kind that makes you wonder if you're about to be jump-scared by a haunted pigeon. The air was thick, the fog was thicker, and his dignity… well, that had taken a hit somewhere between stabbing a zombie that looked like his math tutor and screaming like a banshee.
His chest rose and fell in heaving, exhausted gasps. Not the heroic, battle-worn kind you see in epic war movies. No. More like he'd just run a mile in gym class and was trying not to puke in front of the coach.
His hands? Oh, they were a masterpiece of trauma. Crusted in dried blood, dirt, and regret. One knuckle was definitely not knuckling right. He stared at them with the expression of a man who had just remembered he was supposed to be playing a dream-based survival horror game and somehow ended up in a bad therapy session instead.
