. In Time .
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā He wasnāt sure how he got there,Ā Ā Ā or what happened. Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Was it something he ate?Ā Ā Ā Something he drank?
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Memory blurred, thoughts clouded ā too much was going on in his head. But, memory was a funnyĀ thing, wasnāt it? They thought heĀ was insane; everyone telling him these memories of another lifeĀ were a manifestation ā must have been something?Ā Ā Ā Stress? Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā He had to let it go . . . Ā Ā Ā Pretend to beĀ Ā Ā Ā n o r m a l . Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Pretend to not have remembered. Sometimes, that was fine. But others? Not so much. It was stressful. Putting up a false faƧade ā and to please who? The townsfolk? No. The Queen.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā And maybe, just maybe, the Sheriff starting drinking a touchĀ more whiskey than per usual ā than before. Just a little something to take the edge off. Just a little something to forget. Just a little something to get through those (now sparse) āmeetingsāĀ with the Mayor. Just a little something to get by. For now.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā So maybe it wasĀ the alcohol that dulled his ever so goodĀ reaction time ā regardless of how littleĀ he thoughtĀ he had to drink. (Which he knewĀ wasnāt a good idea, but when were the roads of Storybrooke ever busy?) And something, a silhouette in the road, caused the man to swerve the car, crashing into a ditch. To the smell of smoke and the air bag as a pillow, Graham has passed out.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Darkness.Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Vision obscured. Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā MouthĀ Ā Ā dry. The taste of cloth pollutedĀ his mouth. Gagged deep, fabric locking all moist away. Shoulders rolled, arms straining against . . . something. Tied. Restrained. He grunted, giving up the fight. It was no use ā someone was coming. Footfalls echoed against a hardĀ floor.
@hatteirĀ
