Watson
A horse on the water-
Cold air punches into my lungs.
It’s always the same, coming back from the dead. Always like smoke clearing, like startling awake from a deep sleep. Like those dreams where you’re falling. There’s never any confusion, though. I always know right where I’ve been. Not like you’ve nodded off, asleep at the wheel, crashed into somewhere new. More like you’ve lost your train of thought, drifted. Then it comes back to you, all at once. Except for that time Gan accidentally shot me in the back of the head. That one took a minute to clear up.
Chest heaving, my eyes flash open. I’m in the tent, and I’m cold. Really, really f*****g cold. Like I could see my breath kind of cold, if I could catch my breath in the first place. That’s another thing that always happens, t
