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#56
The smell of dew permeated my nostrils. This is not my bed. I sleep on a spring mattress in a run-down apartment in Chicago, not a bed of grass. The blades tickled my face and hair. I rolled onto my back, dazed and confused. Dark clouds brooded above | It wasn't my fault. It couldn't be. I had taken precautions and I knew better than to put myself into stupid situations. And yet here I was in a field in New England without my wallet or car keys. | I tried to remember what happened last night, but as I dug through the depths of my mind, all I could find was a foggy haze. I looked around for anything that could jog my memory. And there he was, lying in the grass a few yards away from me. | He was bloated and covered in blood, but through the fog covering my memory, I knew that we had shared something special last night. | A chance glance over my shoulder revealed the carcass, its eyes reprimanding in a glassy haze of death and agony. The deep bite-like gouges explained the blood that warmed my chin. I would not be getting drunk again soon - i had a terrible hangover.
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