Seventh by Heath Pfaff

Author:Heath Pfaff [Heath Pfaff]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-05-03T02:50:01+00:00

I had never woken up standing before, but as I came to I realized I was on my feet. For a moment I felt as if I would lose my balance as I was taken by an intense sense of vertigo. I reached my hands up to my eyes to rub away the haze, and found that my right hand was wrapped around a length of steel. I looked at it, puzzled for moment before recognition finally dawned on me. It was Hobbes’ makeshift weapon, the chair leg from the cafeteria. Blood dripped slowly down the handle towards my hand and I quickly tipped it the other way, letting the trickle of blood drip towards the ground.

“What the fuck?” I cursed aloud, trying to sort out what had happened.

“I said, ‘I don’t mind.’” Hobbes’s voice came from behind me. I spun to face him, shocked to see him standing there. For a moment, just a brief moment, I’d thought I might have blacked out and killed him. I hadn’t just thought it - in my heart, when I saw the steel bar in my hand, I had believed that I had killed him and taken his weapon, even though I didn’t remember doing it. I smiled in relief. I had blanked out, but nothing bad had happened.

“Wright?” Hobbes questioned me, tilting his head to the left, his expression empty.

“Oh, sorry, spaced out for a moment, what were we talking about?” I didn’t want him to know that I had completely blacked out.

“You can carry the med packs and weapon if you want. I don’t mind. I can always find another club, and I haven’t needed the meds yet. We just need to be careful.” Hobbes said passively.

I nodded, clenching the steel bar in my fist. I wasn’t sure what had transpired while I was out, but I had apparently convinced Hobbes to let me have our only weapon as well as the medical supplies. That was a stroke of luck. I felt like now, at least, I didn’t need to worry about him leaving me with nothing. It also meant that he must trust me to some degree, or at least wasn’t afraid that I’d run off on him. If he wanted to be the trusting sort, that was fine by me. I didn’t mean Hobbes any harm, but if it came down to me or him, I didn’t think I was the heroic type.

“To the comfort center, then?” He asked, starting off down the corridor.

“Sure.” I said, falling in behind him. We must have come to some mutual agreement on a destination. Why couldn’t I remember any of it? What did these blackouts mean? There is something distinctly unnerving about having made critical decisions and not remembering doing so. At least this time I hadn’t woken up in a completely different location. Maybe I was getting better.

It didn’t take us long to reach the lounge. I could smell the distinctive scent of the home world illusion before we were even in sight of the actual spectacle.

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