A New Beginning

A Conundrum of a Man

You wake up in Hamish's old bed with a splitting headache and no recollection of how you got there. Good Lord, you feel sick! Straight from a dreamless sleep to a waking nightmare where a blacksmith has set up shop inside your skull. The topography of your chapped lips have more cracks and furrows than the ascend to Mount Shann, it feels like you've slept with your mouth full of cotton, and your bullet-struck arm is stiffer than the Duke of Wellington's upper lip in the battle against L'Armée du Nord. You shuffle the blanket aside and rise, slowly, palm to forehead, groaning. The soles of your feet touch something fluffy and soft. You can't remember taking off your shoes and the unexpected sensation of carpet to bare skin has you retracting your legs by instinct.

Your body heavily opposes the muscle work required to shift from lying to upright position. You sit at the edge of the bed resting your face in your hand, waiting for your stomach to settle. The world is still spinning, though in moderation compared to last night.

All curtains have been closed. A few, slanted sunrays find their way through a scatter of slits and tears in the curtain fabric provide a scarce amount illumination, barely enough to look around. A coffee pot stands inside the mantelpiece, by the embers. On the table next to the sink are bottles, aliments, a leather belt, and... some kind of metallic object, possibly a firearm.

"Arthur?"

No answer. Of course. He was to sleep outside, in his tent. You remember now. Still, why hasn't he come inside to wake you or to check on you?

Your boots have been neatly placed by the side of the bed. Aside from your bare feet, you are fully dressed. It's like all blood has been drained from your injured arm and replaced by cement. Thus, putting on your footwear takes you longer than it should and does your pounding head no favors. You hoist yourself up and totter across the floor for a better look at the items on the table. A canteen, which says slosh-slosh when you shake it, a chunk of bread, a small piece of cheese, a slice of salted venison, a mélange of remedies, your gun belt, your cattleman, and a handful of bullets.

The mere thought of food makes your stomach churn and you opt for the canteen. After forcing down two mouthfuls, you drag yourself back across the floor to the fireplace for coffee, whereupon you stagger your way to open the door, peek outside – and immediately retract. It feels as if your eyeballs have been pierced by a thousand needles, intensifying your headache to the point someone might as well have taken a knife and jabbed it through your skull. Without warning, the room starts swaying; left, right, up, down, upside-down, and into an unknown dimension where arbitrariness is law and time and space do not exist as you know it.

In the midst of a confusion competing in intensity only with your rampant heartbeat, you grab a hold of the first whatever you can reach, a chair you think, upon which you clutch a hold of the curtain as the chair starts tipping but fail to regain balance for want of a functioning left arm, at which you fall onto the tabletop, dragging the tablecloth with you. You hear a thud of something hard and heavy striking wood, followed by what sounds like marbles rolling over the wooden floor.

You keel over the table, heaving for air in between wails and sobs. Oh, how you wish Arthur were here with you. Waves of nausea wash over you, waxing, waning, resurging with fiery strength just as it seems you'll be granted a moment's worth of peace to catch your breath.

Calm down. You're going to be fine.

Somehow you manage to slump down on the chair. You lie your head and torso flat down on the tabletop and rest your forehead on your arm. After curbing your gag reflex, you wipe your face and open the door again, this time covering your face with your arm.

"Arthur?"

No answer.

"Arthur!" you call out, instantly regretting it. The artisan that's taken up lodging inside your head ain't about to approve of your outburst. Nor is he too fond of sunlight.