52 Vhalar 720
Yeva awoke on the floor, cheek pressed against the scarred wooden floor.
There was no blanket, no cot. The room floated on the waves of her own equilibrium. Round and round and round and round.
She thought nothing at first, staring, existing. Her eyes adjusted and the heat followed. It was so hot. She couldn't breathe. Where am I? she wondered, What happened? The room was dark, shadowed masses looming.
Her brown eyes took in the room, recognition beginning to click inside her marshy skull, "Ba-" her chest was racked with coughs, each convulsion of her body rousing a beating in her head. The muscles in her body screaming for moisture, "Gah!" she clutched her skull and doubled over as a wave of nausea threatened to drain her of the last bit of strength she had.
Agony.
Self-inflicted agony.
Yeva had experienced hangovers before, but none as merciless as this. Sitting up nearly sent whatever remained in her stomach spewing out against the floor, 'I've been poisoned,' she thought, clutching her left arm. It felt as if the limb had been beaten by a club, she could barely move it. Was it sleeping on the floor that made her so stiff? Or the fact that any liquid in her body had been drawn out of her muscles in a desperate attempt to keep her alive?
"This is it," she managed, stumbling in the dark to the desk where half-empty liquor bottles mocked her, "This is how I die."
Clutching the edge of the table, head hung over and panting through her discomfort, she searched. Water. Where was the water?
There was no blanket, no cot. The room floated on the waves of her own equilibrium. Round and round and round and round.
She thought nothing at first, staring, existing. Her eyes adjusted and the heat followed. It was so hot. She couldn't breathe. Where am I? she wondered, What happened? The room was dark, shadowed masses looming.
Her brown eyes took in the room, recognition beginning to click inside her marshy skull, "Ba-" her chest was racked with coughs, each convulsion of her body rousing a beating in her head. The muscles in her body screaming for moisture, "Gah!" she clutched her skull and doubled over as a wave of nausea threatened to drain her of the last bit of strength she had.
Agony.
Self-inflicted agony.
Yeva had experienced hangovers before, but none as merciless as this. Sitting up nearly sent whatever remained in her stomach spewing out against the floor, 'I've been poisoned,' she thought, clutching her left arm. It felt as if the limb had been beaten by a club, she could barely move it. Was it sleeping on the floor that made her so stiff? Or the fact that any liquid in her body had been drawn out of her muscles in a desperate attempt to keep her alive?
"This is it," she managed, stumbling in the dark to the desk where half-empty liquor bottles mocked her, "This is how I die."
Clutching the edge of the table, head hung over and panting through her discomfort, she searched. Water. Where was the water?