closed: howling at the moon or something
Patrick remembered walking home from across town. A friend of his, a much more established restauranteur and bar owner than himself, had just opened a new spot near the West End and was launching with an over-the-top opening party that he’d been told he “obviously have to be there, don’t argue with me, Callaghan.”
He remembered taking a shortcut through the park, warmer than he ought to be in the late summer night chill thanks to the many experimental concoctions that had been enthusiastically forced up him (and enthusiastically received).
He remembered a cloud shifting just as he cut away from the walker’s trail. He remembered the light of the moon, full and seeming impossibly big in the sky, casting shadows through the trees.
He remembered the hair on his arms standing on end. He remembered a scrapping shuffle, then a low guttural sound, just outside his line of sight.
He remembered pain, searing from his shoulder to his lower back.
Then he remembered nothing at all.
-
The first thought he remembered having after that, eyes still closed where he lay in bed, was that he was really, really bloody hungry.
The second was that this was most definitely not his own bed.
The third, upon opening his eyes and blinking against the stark light of the sterile room, was that this was not the ‘not his own bed’ situation he would have expected.
What in the bloody hell-
He remembered taking a shortcut through the park, warmer than he ought to be in the late summer night chill thanks to the many experimental concoctions that had been enthusiastically forced up him (and enthusiastically received).
He remembered a cloud shifting just as he cut away from the walker’s trail. He remembered the light of the moon, full and seeming impossibly big in the sky, casting shadows through the trees.
He remembered the hair on his arms standing on end. He remembered a scrapping shuffle, then a low guttural sound, just outside his line of sight.
He remembered pain, searing from his shoulder to his lower back.
Then he remembered nothing at all.
-
The first thought he remembered having after that, eyes still closed where he lay in bed, was that he was really, really bloody hungry.
The second was that this was most definitely not his own bed.
The third, upon opening his eyes and blinking against the stark light of the sterile room, was that this was not the ‘not his own bed’ situation he would have expected.
What in the bloody hell-