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[casualscribe]

[WP] You jokingly pick up a banana and talk into it as if it's a phone, but as you laugh at your stupidity, you hear a voice answer back.

"...hello? Is this thing on?"

"Wrong end, dumbass."

Ralph did a double take.

"...uh..."

"The mouth piece is the long skinny part. The stem. I can't hear a damn word you're saying when you hold it like that."

Ralph looked at the yellow shaft of the fruit between his fingers, his eyes drawn down to the brown banana-butt opposite the stem.

"Huh?"

"Jesus Christ kid. FLIP. THE BANANA. OVER."

The muffled anguish of the voice had enough ire to force Ralph to turn the banana in his hand and hold the stem up to his mouth - the brown banana-butt hovering cautiously by his ear.

"...hello?"

"Hi kid. That's better." A raspy, tired sounding voice emitted from the banana-earpiece.

"Who... who is this?" Ralph had no better question to ask.

"That's not important right now," the banana replied. "I need you to follow my instructions very, VERY carefully. Can you do that, kid?"

Ralph's stomach rumbled. He had been planning on having his noontime snack in between classes, but caught himself posing with the fruit in his beat up Civic.

"I don't know... I'm pretty hungry, and I really have this midterm I need the potassium for..."

"Ha ha. Shut up. This won't take long, then you can eat this one. It's a burner anyway. Less than desirable area code. Just make sure to pull the Dole sticker off and they won't be able to trace this peel."

Ralph pulled the bananaphone away from his ear and squinted at it - then held it back up to his face. Somehow, the idea of how this was all possible had failed to cross his mind until that instant.

"Hey, uh, how..."

"Kid I really need you to focus for me. Seriously. This is really important. They'll be coming any second and you need to be prepared-"

"Wait." Ralph responded more urgently now. "WHO's coming? Who's they? And what's going on here? How are you talking to me?"

"Alright kid, forget it. They're outside. We need to cut this line and I'll find a way to reach out to you later. Remember: pull off the Dole sticker. Good luck."

*click*

The line went dead. "Hey!" Ralph raised his voice into the stem, but there was no answer. The voice was gone.

Sitting in the parking lot, he held the fruit-communicator at arms length. Aside from the obvious, something had seemed off about the urgency of the situation. He looked back at the stem, realizing that he had better follow the instructions in case some kind of trouble should find him.

Ralph turned the banana over one last time, then realized what was troubling him.

The banana had a Chiquita sticker. Ralph shrugged and took a bite.

[takoyakisketches-blog]

Cats from today’s stream - as a request from a friend

[casualscribe]

Writing Prompt: You were born with a birthmark the shape of a "9" on your wrist, one day you get in a fatal car accident. You wake up in a strange room and the first thing you notice is the 9 has changed to an 8.

Writing Prompt: You were born with a birthmark the shape of a "9" on your wrist, one day you get in a fatal car accident. You wake up in a strange room and the first thing you notice is the 9 has changed to an 8.

________________________

eep.

weep.

BWEEP.

BWEEP.

The incessant blaring finally roused Jonathan into consciousness. His shoulder hurt. Technically, everything hurt - but the only thing he could think about was how bizarre and agonizingly painful his right shoulder felt.

BWEEP.

Jonathan’s eyes snapped open. He blinked, twice - the darkness was no different, eyes opened or closed. He shut his eyes again and winced. Why bother trying to see if he couldn’t? His mind darted back to his shoulder - no his whole arm - that buzzed and tingled and hurt so very badly.  

BWEEP.

He sat up and immediately laid back down. Too much. The nausea kicked in immediately, prompting him to roll a half turn before loudly retching. Jonathan heard a soft splattering sound on the ground between coughs and gasps for air. He forced his eyes open as he returned to laying on his back. His forearm hurt, but the rest of him felt a little better.

BWEEP.

A soft red flash illuminated the room. The noise was coming from a pulsing light on the wall, setting the room ablaze with fuzzy details. There wasn’t much to it - or at least, not much that Jonathan could make out before the light went out. He did notice the uncomfortable table he was laying on, an empty chair in the corner, and something that might have been a door. Why..?

BWEEP.

Jonathan softly cried out. A lightning bolt of white hot pain shot down his arm, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut again. Images flashed into his mind, a peaceful Sunday evening, the windows down in his beat up Acura, a woman’s laughter - Jess?

BWEEP.

Jonathan shouted again and held his arm up to the pulsing light. Sweat trickled down his brow and into his eyes as he desperately tried to blink them away. The tears, too, had started to well up and contributed to his blurry vision. His wrist looked fine.

The light went out.

His wrist was not fine.

Only in the darkness could he notice the dull light, getting brighter with the pain. A shape started to form, and, squinting, he recognized the shape: his pale birthmark. A circle with a hook, growing up he called it his lucky 6, or an unlucky 9 - depending on which way you looked at it.

His unlucky 9 glowed like lava. It hurt with all the brutal agony of a transport truck, barreling into a beat up Acura. It burned like the sound of metal breaking, glass shattering, air bags deploying and loved ones dying. He tightened his hand into fist, fingernails digging into his palms. It felt like his entire body was breaking and dying and being ripped apart - but focused into his wrist.

This time, Jonathan truly screamed.

BWEEP! BWEEP! BWEEP!

The room was flooded with a clean, white luminescence. He could hear sound of loud clacking footsteps against a tile floor. The door opened, and Jonathan was surrounded by shadowy figures. The pain was gone.

Jonathan looked at his wrist. Where his birthmark used to be was a smoldering, black, figure eight. Tendrils of smoke floated up and away, then dissipated - a bad memory of the pain. A lady furiously scribbled on a clipboard.

[casualscribe]

freewrites and I don’t know what it’s like being old so

An old man sat at a desk in front of a loose stack of photographs. Reluctantly, he picked up the pile, straightening them as the points of thick print paper scratched his calloused hands. There were easily dozens of pictures. He squinted at the one on top and narrowed his bushy brows. Setting the rest of the disjointed pile aside, he held it to light and adjusted his spectacles.

It was a family. A smiling man and woman stood in the center, foregrounded by three children - two boys around the same age, and a very tiny girl - standing in front of a beach house. The parents wore modest outdoor attire while the boys were shirtless with wet, tousled hair. The little girl was covered in sand. All of them seemed happy exactly where they were, the woman with her husband and the family she held dear, the man swelling with pride, and the little girl thrilled with her bright yellow plastic shovel.

The old man put the photo down under the direct glare of desk lamp.  He pressed his index finger to the tacky surface of the weathered photograph. It rested on the sunburnt chest of the slightly smaller boy. This boy grinned a reckless toothy grin, revealing a black gap where an incisor had fallen out days before. His older brother stood next to him, equally shirtless and red from the hours of playing on the hot summer day. This boy smiled a quieter, confident smile.

The photograph became hazy. The footprints in the sand dulled away, the little girl with the yellow shovel and the grinning confident faces of the parents were lost to shapes and shadows. A lonely tear fell from the old man's eyes, trailing down his cheek. For an instant, the old man smiled the older boy's smile. Quiet and confident, he smiled at his younger brother. The boy smiled back - and then was gone.

[casualscribe]

“People are terrifying.”

     “What makes you say that?”

“Because they’re always watching me.”

      “...”

“I can hear them judging me.”

    “Are you sure?”

“What kind of question is that?”

------------

“People are terrifying.”

    “Why?”

“Because people are the cause of literally every problem I’ve ever had.”

    “That’s not why you’re terrified of them.”

“How do you know why I am afraid?”

    “Because I love you.”

---------------

“People are terrifying.”

    “Boo!”

“Stop it. You know what I mean.”

    “Sorry. Just trying to cheer you up.”

“I’m not upset. Just stating a fact.”

    “Oh.”

------------------

“People are terrifying.”

    “Yes.”

“...”

    “So?”

“I dunno. I just thought of it.”

    “Huh.”

“I guess this is why they’re terrifying.”

-------------

“People are terrifying.”

    “Is that why you’re hiding behind a screen, sipping tea and lamenting the world?”

“...”

    “...”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

----------------

“People are terrifying.”

    “Why?”

“Because they embody the anxiety that I feel.”

    “That’s vague enough to be interesting, but not concise enough to make sense.”

“Who asked you?”

-----------------

“People are terrifying.”

    “Are you terrifying?”

“I’m the worst of the lot.”

    “How do you mean?”

“Only I know what I think about at night.”

------------------

“People are terrifying.”

    “Break that down a bit for me.”

“Hmm… I don’t know.”

    “Maybe start with a person that terrifies you?”

“I’m too worried to even name them.”

    “Okay. What about them terrifies you?”

“The expectations they have.”

    “You’re worried about letting them down?”

“I’m worried they’re right - and that I should expect more from myself.”

    “So you’re worried about you?”

“I guess you could say that.”

----------------

“Do you know what this feels like?”

    “Kind of like yesterday, actually.”

“It’s like we’re doing it over again.”

    “Wait, what was yesterday?”

“Tuesday?”

    “...Today is Friday.”

--------------

“Do you know what this feels like?”

    “It’s soft… wait. Is this…?”

“Hah, no. I know what you’re thinking - it’s not that.”

    “Oh.”

“Keep guessing!”

    “Fuzzy, warm… Can I take the blindfold off?”

“Not yet!”

    “...Oh my god.”

----------------

“Do you know what this feels like?”

    “Love? Or is it just a touch of indigestion?”

“Never mind.”

---------------

“Do you know what this feels like?”

    “Tell me.”

“You’re a terrible sport.”

    “Am not! I just don’t feel well.”

“Oh no!”

“...”

“I guess you probably don’t know what it feels like after all, then.”

    “Asshole.”

--------------

"Do you ever just lie awake at night and..."

    “No.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve NEVER just lain there - also you didn’t let me finish.”

    “Helps that I don’t sleep.”

“What? Like… ever?”

    “I can’t believe you’re still falling for this.”

-------------

"Do you ever just lie awake at night and..."

    “...”

“...wonder what’s out there?”

    “Sometimes.”

“You ever think about it? How colossally large the space between the stars is? We’re hanging out around a pathetic yellow sun, hurtling through space in some kind of sick galactic roundabout with no entrance and no exit. Have you ever really thought about it?

    “...not like you have, sounds like.”

“NO YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND LISTEN TO ME-”

    “I’m cutting you off.”

“BUT-”

--------

“Do you ever just lie awake at night and…”

    “...think about all the mistakes you made in your first year of middle school?”

“That’s oddly specific. Is there a story behind this?”

    “Kinda.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

    “It’s not that simple. What were you going to say?”

“Nothing important.”

    “What was it?”

“You’re just trying to get out of telling me your embarrassing thing.”

    “Am not! I’m going to tell you, I just wanted to know what your thing was.”

“Well now you’ve built it up - it was really nothing.”

    “...”

“...”

    “...like actually?”

“...it may have been snack related-”

    “Oh my god.”

“What?!”

--------------------------

“Do you ever just lie awake at night and…”

    “...and what?”

“...and think about what you’re doing with your life?”

    “All the time.”

“Like, I know I should be doing more. And in the back of my mind, I always tell myself, ‘I’m going to, I’m going to.’ But then the weekend hits and it’s all I can do to just relax and keep up with day to day stuff.”

    “I know exactly what you mean. I always tell myself I’m going to go back to school.”

“For engineering?”

    “Yeah.”

“What’s stopping you?”

    “...hmm. A couple things. I keep telling myself it’s a financial thing - but I’m not living paycheck to paycheck anymore. I have savings now - and I know I can take out loans if I need to.”

“Then what?”

    “I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“What is it?”

    “Well… you know. There aren’t a lot of people like, well, me-”

“Because you’re a girl?”

    “NO no no that’s not it-”

“You know that there’s more and more female engineers like, every day.”

    “But that’s not-”

“And as a society we’ve come a long way since the 40s. Women are allowed to have, like, jobs and stuff now.”

    “But-”

“AND there’s scholarship programs specifically for continuing education AND for women in the sciences.”

    “...”

“...”

    “...”

“...it’s your father, isn’t it?”

    “Can we talk about something else?”

-----------------------------

“Are you sure?”

    “I don’t see how I have any other choice.”

“It’s not too late to back out.”

    “Did- did you not just hear what I said? I don’t have a choice. I have to.”

“Of course you have a choice. You always have a choice.”

    “I really don’t.”

“...”

    “...”

“It’s just a roller coaster.”

---------------------

“Are you sure?”

    “Definitely.”

“Then let’s begin.”

    “…”

“...aaaaand there we go.”

    “That was it?”

“Yep! You’re all done here.”

    “Wow… that was so easy.”

“Your arm might be a little sore for a while, but that’s why we use the blue band-aids. With the butterflies.”

    “Thanks Doc. I’ll be back if I see any signs of autism.”

--------------------

“Are you sure?”

“Hello?”

    “Oh- sorry. Yes. Let’s begin.”

“Are you okay?”

    “Yeah. Just tired.”

“Alright. Here goes…”

    “Ahh!”

“Aha!”

    “Ahhhh!”

“Hahahahahahaha!”

    “Ohmygod-”

“I bet you’re not so tired now, huh!?”

--------------------

[casualscribe]

snow

A young boy stood on a hill, looking skyward as the sunlight began to fade. The rays skirted the edges of the shadows - clouds and wind had been infringing on the light as the afternoon drew on. The sun lazily journeyed westward, on a personal quest to light the way of those who needed it more.

The boy grimaced as the wind picked up. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, his tousled hair made messier and more wild with every gust. The wind blew cold against his jacket, but every attempt to capture his warmth was parried away. He hugged his armor, his windbreaker, close. The skirmish continued, but the boy was distracted.

A dull haze had overtaken the clarity of the landscape, the sun now a memory behind the clouds. The elements were bent on turning the sky, earth, and horizon in between into a grayscale photograph. The boy shivered with anticipation.

The sky began to fall.

His blue eyes widened. His smile widened. His arms widened, lowering his defenses. The wind wasted no time. A current of air rushed up his body, stealing the warmth he had kept hidden and whistled jovially out his sleeves. He let it go.

His teeth peeked out from his childish grin, a white glint that beckoned the first crystalline flake of snow.  His blue eyes tracked the snowflake’s descent from the clouds. The wind blew again through his jacket and up to the flake, one second cradling it, the next buffeting it from all sides.  It danced and swayed, looped and swooped and fell and rose again - a performance the envy of any gymnast. The wind, finally satisfied, relinquished control and left the flake to fall - right on the tip of the boy’s red nose.

The boy gasped in delight. The flake melted and disappeared.

Dozens of snowflakes had begun a similar descent, falling as the wind cast them out of the sky. At a distance they filled the horizon with pinpricks, brothers and sisters of ice making their pilgrimage to the grasslands below.  Were one to travel with a random snowflake the experience would be unique: the wind caressed every fall differently, every glint off every facet captured and reflected  like a tumbling kaleidoscope. But while every path differed, every life began above and ended below. All fates ended the same, each snowflake unified in their charge to blanket the world in a layer of thick white silence.

What began as a wonderful race had quickly turned into a mass exodus from the clouds. Individuality faded into a single-minded, purpose driven goal as the sky rushed to the ground. Stones, dirt and dying grass were hidden away by layers of cleansing, fluorescent white.

[casualscribe]

ideas I had to write and then realized I didn’t want to do

write a chat transcript, but like, a funny one

what do you mean

well you know, maybe a passage as if two people are talking to each other

what, you mean like here?

yeah but is it funny if it’s the same person talking to himself

I mean

kinda

I mean

you mean you mean

wait which one am I again

god dammit

[casualscribe]

more freewrites

The way he holds you. At first, across the room. You light up his eyes like a wildfire. He's beautiful and handsome, with a color in his gaze that sparkles. His stare is paralyzing with desire and anticipation. You're trapped, rooted to the ground, and there's no place you'd rather be. The way he touches you. You feel the heat of his hands before they rest on your shoulders. Your thoughts, intensely private, are now tainted with his influence. He's pervasive and penetrating. He draws you in and steals your breath away. The way he knows you. Somehow better than you know yourself. You're tripping over your thoughts, trying to find your footing and he's two steps ahead. Your fears, your doubts, your insecurities laid bare all melt away. He knows they are not you. The way he loves you. It's warm. It's hot. It's everything in between. It makes your mouth crinkle in a tiny smile with a thought. The heat creeps up to your face with a word. It twists and contorts your body in ecstasy with an action. The way he holds you. Asleep, safe, and happy in his arms.

[casualscribe]

breakfast at alice's

“Fuck.”

Alice bent over to pick up the spatula. Circular globs of batter happily charred away as she ran to the sink to rinse. “Shit. They’re burning. Fuck.” She scrambled back to the portable grill.

Tendrils of smoke drifted lazily through the cabin. She turned the cakes over - burned but not inedibly burnt - and the grill hissed. It was angry at her for denying the satisfaction of ruining breakfast. She ran to open the kitchenette window. The sizzling berated her as she slammed her palm upward against the windowpane. It wouldn’t budge. Paint and wood and time had formed an unholy matrimony, the bonds stronger than a woman’s upper body strength.

Alice bent her knees and leaned. The additional leverage drew out a pained groan and creak from the window, divorcing itself from what was surely a stagnant affair. Pancakes continued to burn.

Alice exhaled and reached for a dusty glass in the cupboard. She let the water run before rinsing out the years of particulate and topping off her cup. She took a sip of well water and paused, finally really looking at the rustic cabin in the morning light. It was simple: living space and kitchenette in one with a bar counter separating the two, bedroom with memorable cold metal legs, and a bathroom with a step-in shower that Alice still had reservations about.

She set her cup down and massaged her wrist, walking back over to the sadistic electric grill. Layering six steaming hotcakes, she carefully plated the last of the morning’s breakfast. “I’ll let him tidy up the mess,” she thought to herself. After everything she had dealt with that morning, it seemed only fair. One does not usually need a Harry Houdini re-enactment to relieve themselves in the morning, let alone surprise their lover with the one meal Alice really knew how to make.

Besides, he didn’t mean to fall asleep. The sex was just that good - she knew. A smirk transformed into a grin, the gateway drug for a giggle as she shook her messy auburn curls in amusement.

Alice was happy. She shook out her wrist and began setting the table.

[takoyakisketches-blog]

First thought that came to mind after reading this…

[casualscribe]

Needs more smoky tendrils

[casualscribe]

breakfast at alice's

"Fuck."

Alice bent over to pick up the spatula. Circular globs of batter happily charred away as she ran to the sink to rinse. "Shit. They're burning. Fuck." She scrambled back to the portable grill.

Tendrils of smoke drifted lazily through the cabin. She turned the cakes over - burned but not inedibly burnt - and the grill hissed. It was angry at her for denying the satisfaction of ruining breakfast. She ran to open the kitchenette window. The sizzling berated her as she slammed her palm upward against the windowpane. It wouldn't budge. Paint and wood and time had formed an unholy matrimony, the bonds stronger than a woman's upper body strength.

Alice bent her knees and leaned. The additional leverage drew out a pained groan and creak from the window, divorcing itself from what was surely a stagnant affair. Pancakes continued to burn.

Alice exhaled and reached for a dusty glass in the cupboard. She let the water run before rinsing out the years of particulate and topping off her cup. She took a sip of well water and paused, finally really looking at the rustic cabin in the morning light. It was simple: living space and kitchenette in one with a bar counter separating the two, bedroom with memorable cold metal legs, and a bathroom with a step-in shower that Alice still had reservations about.

She set her cup down and massaged her wrist, walking back over to the sadistic electric grill. Layering six steaming hotcakes, she carefully plated the last of the morning's breakfast. "I'll let him tidy up the mess," she thought to herself. After everything she had dealt with that morning, it seemed only fair. One does not usually need a Harry Houdini re-enactment to relieve themselves in the morning, let alone surprise their lover with the one meal Alice really knew how to make.

Besides, he didn't mean to fall asleep. The sex was just that good - she knew. A smirk transformed into a grin, the gateway drug for a giggle as she shook her messy auburn curls in amusement.

Alice was happy. She shook out her wrist and began setting the table.

[casualscribe]

another thing

​Bitterness over loneliness. Resentment over a failed marriage. Shadows of worthlessness and inadequacy collected in a council of deep and lasting fears. They materialized as faces of his past, looking at him with sad, cold eyes.

A buzzer sliced through the dreamscape.

*BZZZZZT* *BZZZZZT* *BZZZZZT*

He rolled over. 4:27 AM. Who but he would set an alarm for such an unorthodox time?He stared at the giant red numbers on the black rectangular face of the digital clock until the 7 turned to 8. Usually a minute was long enough to let his nightmares fade to the back of his mind, to lie dormant until he dared to dream again.

He sat up abruptly, slapping his face with both hands. The impact jolted him out of his haze. His face felt like his mind, fuzzy, coarse and unwelcoming. He let his fingertips trail down to his chin. The texture of each wrinkle felt like a lifelong friend, honest and growing more pronounced with every passing year.

He staggered to the bathroom and flicked the switch. He winced at the cheery light and moved a hand to cover his pupils from dilating too harshly. "I have to get a dimmer bulb," he cursed under his breath. It was part of his morning ritual: curse the dreams, curse the clock, curse the morning and curse his light fixtures. Nothing was safe from his curses before his morning coffee.

The cold water handle squeaked as it turned, the faucet taking a deep breath before exhaling a brownish liquid. It pooled in the porcelain sink and gradually turned into fluoride-enriched, first-world tap water. He cursed the plumbing.

Once he was certain the water no longer resembled the coffee he desperately needed, Roger Cedric Kingston cupped his hands under the faucet. The icy draft filled in his hands, numbing his fingers and slowly leaking down his wrists. He splashed his face and looked up at the mirror. The sudden chill made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The water trailed down his face the way his fingertips had, greeting every wrinkle and weaving through the stubble of three days without a razor's use. It traveled down his clefted chin and dripped onto the counter.

He inhaled through his large nostrils and took stock of his appearance. His dreams had left him haggard. Somehow, he was more tired than the night before and it showed. The whites of Roger's eyes were red with bloodshot, bags underneath of stress and regret growing with every passing day. His pupils were narrowing to reveal a cerulean blue that could stop a man dead in his tracks - twenty years ago. Even after drying off his face with a towel, the light and the chill and the demons in his dreams had left him the same.

The man in the mirror was miserable, ugly, anxious and full of curses.

Roger cursed Roger.

He turned away from his reflection and stopped. Today would be different. He looked back into the eyes of a man with so much pain, and held his gaze. He squinted, searching desperately in for hope in the eyes of the hopeless - and there! A soft glint, a dimly lit fire, had been hiding among the temporary discomfort of the morning. He swelled with resolve. The fire grew and his eyes widened, then set. Roger's brow furrowed with a new determination.

Today would be different. He rubbed his eyes, clearing away the last of the remains of the shadows of his nightmare.

Today would be different.

Roger cursed, and went to make his coffee. 

[casualscribe]

a thing I wrote

​She brushed the hair out of her eyes with a free hand.

The other was comfortingly snug in the leather cuff, which was tethered to the leather line, tightly wound and knotted around the cold metal bed frame. Very un-leather.

She frowned.

Looking down, she took stock of the situation. Her ankles were bound. Inconvenient. Looped in a figure eight three times - or was it four times, she couldn't make it out - around each ankle was a uniform cotton rope. The ends snaked around and up, tying snugly into a knot that rested atop the lattice. Looped around the ankle binding was another leather line. Another leather line that was married to an equally cold metal leg.

She seemed to be in some kind of padded room. Streaks of sunlight cut through the bleary haze of waking up and finding yourself in cuffs and rope. Minute particles of dust floated in the light, almost hesitating to fall lest they break the stillness.

Alice sighed. The dust danced in the light.

She squinted towards where she assumed the door was. The heavy oaken door was cracked - but not enough to see out. It was just as well. She would open that door when she came to it.

Oddly shaped, colored objects leaned up against the far wall. They looked like large, abstract, plush puzzle pieces that never would quite fit together in any satisfying way. Alice's mind was swimming, taking in the splashes of color in an otherwise grey landscape. She briefly pondered how she knew that the red object had deceptively ergonomic properties.

Craning her neck, a lock of auburn blocked her view again. She brushed it aside and peered into the far corner. There was a wooden looking chest, with what appeared to be a dangling strap hanging out.

She felt the leather cuff with her free hand, inspecting it for weaknesses. Her bounded palm was up, hiding the fastening mechanism from view. She reached around to unclasp the strap when she paused. More cold metal. She was getting tired of metal.

A tiny padlock hung innocently from the fastener.

In a way, she smirked, her free hand was the freest thing about her. And yet it was just another device to remind her of how trapped she was. Like a creature in a cage that searches for every means to escape, she had been baited and fooled by the illusion of freedom.

Alice took a deep breath. She smelled sweat, iron and something else. Something she couldn't describe, but she knew it intimately. An experience she recognized as immediately as the visions of the past 6 hours flooded her memory.

That was also when she noticed the man softly snoring next to her.