The Toaster Adventures, Part II

Looking down. Well, not really down, but more like I wasn’t sure which way was which without the familiar pull of gravity on my frame.

When she screamed, it didn’t even really sound like I needed to care.

From where I was, and from what I could see from up here, the way she fell on top of my chest ear first, it reminded me of one of those old movies where some guy trips and slams his head flat against the pavement, right before it gets ran over by a truck.

Except the blood was coming out of me.

And the harder she pounded her fists against my chest, the darker the floor would get with my life.

Pound, pound, pound.

The sound of her heels wakes me, the tile in the kitchen.

Her skirt panning into view, I’m looking up, my favorite view. The room is coming into focus, the light sharpening into shapes.

She kneels over me, unblurred. Looks around, then down to my face. Leaning closer, I see the plastic cover it.

It being me.
It being my face.

I see her face through the plastic. Blurred again.

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