Eli

1763

          There is a marching  band practicing between my ears and it tastes like a raccoon took a crap in my mouth. I pry my eyelids open but the weak light flooding into them with a shooting agony forces me clamp them closed again.

            A cool hand brushes my forehead and my eyes fly open once more, the crescendo of pain in my head reaching new and painful heights.

            “Uhhhhhhhhhhh…”

            “Shhhhhh… don’t try to talk. Just rest.”

            I blink a...

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