Wake up in a pool of blood. It’s soaked into the sheets of this oversized bed. Everything is blinding white. The room big, framed by 360 degree windows. Sunlight like lightning stabs through.
Concorde-sized hangover, or I am fucking dying? I gasp for air and catch my breath.
Eyes can’t see much. Looks like arrows moving through splintered glass. Jagged and coming at me.
My head is a dart board. It has holes in it from years of abuse but something is different.
A quick body scan for wounds finds nothing. Checking again in the mirrors above yields no answers.
No cuts. No holes. No damage. Not like the last time.
Wait a minute. As fingers slowly slide across my ribs, I feel a thorny burning sensation on my forefinger. I got a fat blister. Feels like I got burned.
Barely able to hoist myself onto an elbow before I collapse again. I notice an open elevator across the room. In it, a Rolls Royce Silver Phantom. A gleaming Valkyrie chariot. Illuminated and glowing like a ghost. It’s staring me down like it knows something.
What the hell is going on? Where am I?
Vague memories flash like fish scales. I swoop for them like a hungry owl.
The bride. The harbor. Not enough to paste together.
I think in colors and shapes. Cubed synapses. Tabs. Records. Flash drives.
Shit, I’m in pain. The universe times three.
Is pain the pleasure of last night’s appetite?
not working and meters are deep in the red.