The official publish of our fantastical tale is months away, so I’ve decided to satiate your need with a bit from Chapter 3. As always, please pardon the formatting. We don’t understand the WordPress that well.
Does it get better than this? God, I hope so. Gray outside, no sun yet. I look through the windshield of Tom’s truck. I’m in the parking lot behind the barracks. Naked, lying down in the front seat, dried patches of blood about. One of my eyes is caked shut. I try to remember how this happened.
Slowly, coming back. All of it coming back. The Filipina, the bloody bouncer, the broken cue stick, the free money. Frozen time.
I ponder this. Frozen time? Reaching under the seat, I pull out my clothes: sneakers, underpants, shirt, and pants. I’m still wearing Tom’s cap, which is glued to my head, and my socks are still on.
I untangle my pants. It’s a chore because they’re balled up and hard as a rock from all of the dried blood. I find a lump of quarters in a front pocket. I check my wallet. Four hundred and twenty seven dollars. Definitely more than I’d brought into the bar.
I am magical.
Lurching over, I yank at the door handle, swing the driver’s side door open, lean out, and get sick. Finished, I struggle with my pants, finally getting them on. Well enough to sneak up to my room without getting arrested, anyway, as long as no one looks at me.
I throw my shirt, underwear, and sneakers away in the first trashcan I pass on my way to the barrack’s east stairwell. I don’t want to carry them, and can now afford new ones.
Showering is an ordeal. My wound’s on fire and my head’s throbbing, probably from the stagnant air in the truck. I manage, though, washing enough dried blood off my face to get my eye open.
Out of the shower, I check myself in the mirror to make sure most of the blood’s out of my hair and off my face. I roll up a clean t-shirt and wrap it around my head, tying it in the back. I’m running out of tape. Getting dressed, I have to put on my work boots. I can’t find my sneakers.
I can’t get over how infatuated I am with my ripped head. I need to protect it. I check it again in the mirror before heading over to Tom’s room. The shower’s opened it back up, and a little blood’s creeping out with the infection. I’d treat it with some peroxide, but I think the infection might be the source of my powers, and I don’t want to risk it.
