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"A Horse with No Name" -Patrick Carney
February 15th, 2013 9:57am
It's the feeling of the slight breeze on your skin, blades of overgrown grass tickling your face.
It's the reddish undertones that plaster in a butterfly formation on your face, arms that ache from being worked too hard.
Your mind allows you to slowly come to your senses moments after reaching consciousness. The pure realization of the amnesia, not knowing where you lie, the unfamiliar feeling drowning you.
Your eyes could only glance over to your side, slight relief washing over you as you realize that it's Tim, or at least you hoped—your eyes landing on the white mask that collected dirt slowly.
Your legs ached, slowly noticing the bruising on your arms and scrapes on your knees. Fingers slightly tapping on Tim's unconscious body, in a subtle attempt of waking him.
You didn't want to be alone.
You slightly shook him, hoping he would wake up. His dark hair was shaggy, longer than you'd ever seen it. You took notice of scrapes on his face, bruising under his eye.
You took in a breath and slowly lifted his face onto your leg, allowing you to get a full view of him. His stubble grew out a bit, though not quite a beard—sideburns thick.
The only thing you could do is wait.
You pressed your fingers against his wrist, his pulse slow but there nonetheless. His presence comforted you, though unconscious.
You felt your pockets for any belongings you might by some miracle still have, and to your surprise, you felt a little rectangular object.
A little white lighter.
You flick the wheel and pressed, the flame that arose giving you a slight hopeful feeling. That struck the idea of checking Tim's jacket pockets, the tan jacket hugging his unconscious figure.
Marlboro menthol lights, of course. Tim was a rather heavy smoker, so it's always a must have for him. Not too many left in the pack, though.
Pocket knife, you recognized it as Jay's from his initials on the handle. You didn't have the brainpower to question why it was with Tim.
His wallet was miraculously on him, complete with roughly one Benjamin, a few crinkled ones, his ID, and a credit card.
You placed the leather billfold back where you found it, shaking him in the process as an attempt to wake up.
"Tim. Tim, come on." You nearly were on the verge of slapping him. "Jesus christ, man." You let out a sigh as you about gave up, but the dark haired man slowly arose from his state.
"What.. what the fuck." His hoarse voice accompanied his tired, yet mortified eyes. You had the same thought.
'Where the fuck are we.'
"I don't know either. I can't answer any questions, I woke up here with no memory like," you thought for a second. "Ten? Fifteen minutes ago?"
Tim just thought for a moment, fully sitting up.
He went through his pockets, the gears turning wildly in his mind. His frantic behavior definitely clashed with your almost relaxed demeanor.
Though you most certain were not.
You were freaking the fuck out on the inside.
"Can we just.." his voice was low, eyes contacting yours. "Can we just find a town or something? I'm.. I'm fucking hungry."
You both were starving, to which you nodded at the mere thought of getting food.
