• As I lay in a pool of my own blood I sigh which, I might add, is rather painful (especially wih a bullet wound to the chest) & mourn how my perfectly good, brand-spanking new shirt was now ruined beyond repair.*

    "You know that's just a waste of your time right?" The person frantically working on my wound takes a moment to glare at me.

    "Shut it."

    "Did you remember to call the ambulance?" I'm rewared with another glare. Yesh, get a sense of humor why don't you? Yet another glare. Whoops, must've accidently spoke what I was thinking while thinking I was only thinking.

    "Do you ever shut it?"

    I try to chuckle but wince. "Only in a blue moon. I speak what's on my mind & I speak what's on others." He rolles his eyes at me.

    "Seriously, you have no f*ing filter do you?"

    I grin devilishly at him. "Of course I've got one. I just choose when to use it." I'm rewarded with an eyeroll. Suddenly he stills & he looks at the entrance of the alley. "You should go before they get here. But before you do help me so I'm against the wall so they can spot me?" He nods grimly & helps me. Then, just like that, he was gone.

    You're probably wondering what the hell that was about. Well, I'll tell you but we're going to have to go back a bit.

    My name is Sheryl. Last name is unimportant at the moment. I was ordinary three weeks ago (well, as normal as someone who finds lost things can be). I grew up in Maine in a small town called Maple (go Hornets) & have fairly normal parents and after high school moved to Chicago for college & earned my degree in law & business (stayed there after too). I'm 5ft and 1 & 3/4 inches tall with red-brown hair that I can never really tame.

    Three weeks ago I got a request from a friend. That was also when hell broke lose (let's connect the dots).

    I sigh. Note to self: If I live through this I'm buying a godd*mn bulletproof vest.

    *You'd be shocked at all the random stuff that flit through your head if you realize you're probably going to die. A good example would be "Crap, I left the roast in the oven." Which...now that I think about it, I did. Damn it.