Tom Moses

My mind is a wreck.  I haven’t slept in two days, and not even the boredom of a cross country flight was enough to lull me.  I hear Seattle is a nice place, I think I’ve been there a few times in my life, but at the moment I’m not too sure on much beyond the present.

Frenchie arranged for everything, as usual he’s the one friend I can count on that will never lose his level head, always watching out for me.  Sometimes I’m not sure how he does it, other times I don’t bother to ask, but the two of us are like that.  Either one will do anything for the other at the drop of a hat, we’ve saved each other countless times and continue to do so everyday.

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The street lamps were dim and yellow; the few that worked hardly provided enough light to keep the streets safe at night. Jackson kept his eyes roaming while he canvassed the area from the safety of his Honda. Counting the illicit customers coming and going from the yellow house on the corner of Third and Elm, seeing no apparent pattern at this time of night, but all the same the plan did not matter to whatever pattern the customers took, there were no innocents in this equation.

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It was not the sort of way he wished to spend a Saturday afternoon, but it had to be done. Emily was stable but the damage to her body was severe this time, the chemically induced coma was something the doctors needed to help her recover but it was Doctor Evans that put his hand on Jackson’s shoulder, “It was bad this time, you know.”

“She should be dead.”

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My eyes aren’t even open and I know the trouble I’m in. The sweet taste of blood lingers in my mouth; absent-minded I flick my tongue over a string of meat stuck in one molar. The room reeks of blood, and a scent of a sweet perfume I know I don’t want to even attempt at opening my eyes to see what’s laying next to me.

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