Lights, bright neon lights. They flickered. I blinked. Dust attacked my dried-out eyeballs.
Where am I?
I turned my head, and realized I was lying on the wooden floor, the splintered, and creaky floor, beside the bar counter. Broken glass seemed to mock me somehow as it glistened in the neon lights.
So you thought you knew what it would be like?
It laughed at me, I could swear it.
You thought you could handle it.
Again, a sheer, sickening laugh.
You hadn’t a clue!!
I turned away from the glass as tears rolled down my cheeks.
(AUTHOR’S NOTE: Please check out Word Forty-Three: Dying for the rest of the story.)