Fuzzy. That was the best word he’d managed to come up with to describe the current status of his brain. Years of studying science and history and the best he could come up with was fuzzy. But how else do you describe the feeling of looking at everything through a fog? Of hearing everything seconds late as if the sound had to wade through mud to get to you? And the feeling of your slow brain trying to process what it saw and coming up empty? Like right now. Aster had gone for a walk. Convinced as he was in what he now referred to as his first life, that a walk solved everything. But it was early evening, the sky was dark, and the haze was thick.
He turned down a road he thought was his own but instead was met with an unfamiliar open space. Taking his hands out of his pockets he was prepared to test the earth beneath his feet but found himself unable to move. A figure moving through the fog towards him. Almost as tall as he was but broader, impossibly large hands balled into fists at its sides. Pathetic, it whispered. Sending a shiver down Aster’s spine as he began to shake. He knew that voice. A voice which should have only existed in his nightmares. “You can’t be h- h- h- h- h- h- h- h- h- h- .” Its laughter was deafening, sickening, causing Aster to double over in pain. Already feeling the phantom boot kicking his stomach.
cc: @clementine-kent
