There were sounds, suddenly, like ear plugs were plucked out of my head. I concentrated, desperately finding some light my retinas could latch on to, to give some meaning to where I was and what was happening to me. I told my limbs to move but nothing happened. I was on my back, on top of something awkward and bony. “My watery grave.” The phrase floated around in my head. Their grotesque figures flickered in the woods like a waning pilot light. The reel in my head spun wildly, more shady images skittering past the spokes. I couldn’t bring my mind around fast enough to remember anything concrete. They were open and squinting against a light mist that burned them like salt. A shade of coal darker than anything behind closed eyes. My mind reeled awake like the slow wind of undeveloped film.
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