32: Gunmetal and Darkness

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When I was younger, in high school, one of my friends died. I think she believed death was a way to end pain. It would be a swirling array of blackness and calm. I wasn't so sure I could ever believe her.

This world was black, yes, but the pain was white hot.

There was a voice, hazy, sluggish. I think it was calling my name...





... then it was wrapping around the white hot in my ribs and I had a body again. I wasn't floating in black.

"Lyn," the voice whispered.

My eyes slit open a fraction, to crimson and white glow. They scrunched closed again to the clunk of something.
When they slit open once more, it was to blue eyes and dark hair.

My eyes rolled up and the world went black again.

...

When my body came back to the darkness, it was numb. My blood was novocaine. No grounding...

But there was a smell. Of home and life. Leather and a world I had come to know. I'd grown up with it as horses and peace, all rolled into one... and while I had not known this other, metallic tang, somehow people and living were connected to it...
Because life smelled of leather and gunmetal.

And this scent smelled like home.







I took a a gasping, shuddering breath, and opened my eyes.

Night RiderDove le storie prendono vita. Scoprilo ora