The world around me was a painting of colored blurs. The crowd was a mess, and my vision was red. A blow to the head and a hook to the cheek were the last two things I remember feeling, before my body went in freefall and hit the plywood ground.
I don't call plywood. I call creeping death. And blood.
My eyes drowsed. And all they did was close shut.
The crowd went silent. Then followed someone's footsteps.
The victor of the match turned to see where the footsteps came.
I turned his head right back.
All the way back.
YOU ARE READING
OoN: out of nowhere
General Fictiona futuristic house with very realistic habitat virtualizations. a different version of the afterlife. a usual day turned unusual in seconds. That's a few. What else can there be? stories. weirdness. immediacy. all in one place (like I hope it shou...
