(no subject)
Waking comes slowly, as always. Remembered fragments of voices and images float through Henry's conciousness -- the closest he ever gets to dreaming. The final image in front of his eyes is a ghostly figure in a T-shirt, holding up handless arms and screaming.
Henry's eyes snap open. No ghosts. He breathes a sigh of relief -- that was a nightmarish section of his recent life. He dresses -- black jeans and a white sweater. On second thought, not a white sweater. He's Hungry, and blood-stains are hell on white wool. He pulls on a black turtleneck instead, and swirls his leather trench over the whole outfit as he leaves the apartment.
Time to explore the night.
Henry's eyes snap open. No ghosts. He breathes a sigh of relief -- that was a nightmarish section of his recent life. He dresses -- black jeans and a white sweater. On second thought, not a white sweater. He's Hungry, and blood-stains are hell on white wool. He pulls on a black turtleneck instead, and swirls his leather trench over the whole outfit as he leaves the apartment.
Time to explore the night.