There was a ringing in my head.
And I don't mean metaphorically.
I mean literally — a sharp, shrill, deafening ring. Like a giant tuning fork had been struck against my skull.
My body refused to move for a second.
My limbs didn't ache — they hummed, like overloaded machinery about to catch fire.
Everything around me pulsed in and out of focus, dipped in smoke and the metallic taste of blood coating the back of my throat.
If you want to understand what I was feeling — try not sleeping for three days, then get hit by a speeding car.
That's how bad my condition was.
A grunt clawed its way up my throat as I tried rolling over to my belly but failed.
My spine seemed to be bent over something — a broken pillar? Rubble? My own dignity? I don't know. It was hard to tell.
Above me, the ceiling of the ruined building swam like I was underwater. Or maybe that was just my vision doing the swimming.
My fingers twitched.
And I realized my both hands were currently empty.
