A lonely young women's life changes the very
night of Murray Franklin's murder, on live television and it is a change that her heart will never forget. When she spots a man passed out and bloody, in an alley, that same night and even when she sees...
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Arthur Fleckdid indeed have to have his stomach pumped, and after the horrific procedure was done, he slept, but it was not the eternal sleep he thought he longed for. He slept for nearly two days straight.
His body was exhausted and sick from the toxins that he had willingly put into his fragile, thin body. His throat was very soar and raw from that retched tube that slithered down it like a snake, and his heart felt as though apiece had been renewed, but stolen all at the same time.
There was an IV in his right hand, the steady beeping of a heart monitor next to his bed and oxygen tubes in his nose. As Arthur slept and slept, his mind was riddled with peculiar dreams and he almost felt like he was someone else as he dreamt. It was exiting yet frightening and crazy, yet perfectly sane.
His dreams were full of blood and violence, while also full of passion and romance. The blood shed in his fevered dreams made him toss and turn, as he sweat out the poison in his body and the parts with sweet, gratifying love made his heart race, but in a very different way.
His mother had came to see him, but once again, it was too much for her and she only stayed for a bit before she was too upset to stay. He was asleep when she came, which may have truly been for the best.
His dreams felt very, very real, to the point where when he did wake up, it took him a moment to process that they weren't real...well, there was something that was real...very, very real...
The woman's voice, calling out to him, that had woken him from his drug induced slumber was quite real. The events he had dreamt of, involving this beautiful, wild woman, never happened, but he was not aware that she had saved his life. He only remembered sitting on a bench right near The Batstow bridge, drunkenly searching for his notebook, not remembering that he had lost it and not anything after that.
The very tale end of his elaborate, cinematic dream, was a young woman's voice and a pair of icy, crystal blue eyes that seemed to stare down at him out of the pure darkness and glitter like a breath-taking constellation in the night's endless sky. What brought him out of his deep slumber was a very strange moment where he was dancing elegantly on the top of a car, gazing out a crowd of rambunctious clowns, as if he were a king in some unusual, hellish kingdom.
