| Author: | Bert Marshall | ISBN: | 9781310421419 |
| Publisher: | Bert Marshall | Publication: | December 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition | Language: | English |
| Author: | Bert Marshall |
| ISBN: | 9781310421419 |
| Publisher: | Bert Marshall |
| Publication: | December 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition |
| Language: | English |
A man wakes up in a field on his knees vomiting out his guts. He looks around and for as far as he can see there is nothing he remembers. The smell of fresh cut grass is the first thing that enters his senses as he sits up and looks around. The sun is just creeping over the horizon and immediately the cicadas start singing. The noise scares the man and he drops into the wet grass more out of reflex, than intention. He feels sticky and hot and the other pungent smell is unfamiliar to him. It’s sweet and heavy and not altogether unpleasant.
A feeling of nausea permeates his guts and he rolls to his stomach and vomits up a creamy white liquid. Its smell is over-powering and he vomits again and again until his stomach has no other offering to give to the soil. He stares at it as if in a dream and it bubbles and sizzles, like the hydrochloric acid is eating the dirt. His throat burns like he sipped molten magma and he dry heaves until his eyes water.
He is finally able to catch his breath and he sits up and looking around, feels despondent. Beside him on the ground is an old shovel with a rusty metal blade on it, but that is about all he can make of it. Standing shakily to his feet, he looks around again. He lifts his nose and smells and his eyes go wide when the cool smell of water passes over his hair-covered face and enters his wide nostrils.
A man wakes up in a field on his knees vomiting out his guts. He looks around and for as far as he can see there is nothing he remembers. The smell of fresh cut grass is the first thing that enters his senses as he sits up and looks around. The sun is just creeping over the horizon and immediately the cicadas start singing. The noise scares the man and he drops into the wet grass more out of reflex, than intention. He feels sticky and hot and the other pungent smell is unfamiliar to him. It’s sweet and heavy and not altogether unpleasant.
A feeling of nausea permeates his guts and he rolls to his stomach and vomits up a creamy white liquid. Its smell is over-powering and he vomits again and again until his stomach has no other offering to give to the soil. He stares at it as if in a dream and it bubbles and sizzles, like the hydrochloric acid is eating the dirt. His throat burns like he sipped molten magma and he dry heaves until his eyes water.
He is finally able to catch his breath and he sits up and looking around, feels despondent. Beside him on the ground is an old shovel with a rusty metal blade on it, but that is about all he can make of it. Standing shakily to his feet, he looks around again. He lifts his nose and smells and his eyes go wide when the cool smell of water passes over his hair-covered face and enters his wide nostrils.
